


Tony Stark and his boys

by DarthWriter



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Also... forgot to mention... Not Safe Not Sane, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Coming Out, Dark, Depression, Dubious Consent, Emotionally Repressed, Everyone Is Bad Except (maybe) Steve, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Internalized Homophobia, Light BDSM, M/M, Maybe darker than I originally thought, Maybe not happy ending, Not light BDSM, Not so light after all, Physical Abuse, Post-Break Up, Protective Steve Rogers, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Tony Stark Angst, Tony Whump, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, very unhealthy relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29728539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthWriter/pseuds/DarthWriter
Summary: Bucky invites his friends over to spend the weekend in his older lover's Malibu mansion in that said lover's absence. What no-one knows is that that older lover is a guy.When he unexpectedly shows up, things start spiraling out of control...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/(almost) Everyone, past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark - Relationship
Comments: 46
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

”What do you say we spend this weekend in Malibu?”

Buck has a lopsided grin, eyes a little mischievous as he nonchalantly suggests it.

Everyone stares at him disbelievingly. _”What?”_ They exclaim in chorus, smelling the fish.

His best friend looks flushed and lowers his blue eyes. ”Yeah, I—I know someone.” He says hesitantly, but his smile is still there, although a little shy. There's something _more_ about it. Something Steve hasn't seen for a long long time.

No-one is duped.

The blond guy next to him, some folk named Clint, makes air quotes with his hands as he turns to him with a knowing grin plastered on his face. ”You _'know'_ someone.” He repeats teasingly.

Everyone laughs. Clint makes a hesitant face before his grin widens in reaction to everyone's guffaws, like he needs a moment before the intel registers. The guy is partially deaf, wearing hearing aids. Or so Steve has heard. Apparently, Bucky met him at his boxing club for disabled people. They hit it off right away. He didn't have a hard time fitting among their lots of military boys.

”Okay, yeah, I admit. I may or may not have been banging someone. Who, as it happens, possibly owns a mansion in Malibu. And... gave me a spare key? Possibly...”

Everyone whistles and cheers enthusiastically, alternately giving Buck congratulating pats on the shoulders.

Buck is a little too flushed for it to be casual though, Steve thinks. Only him notices however.

"So, who's the lucky lady?" Clint asks.

As if Bucky wasn't the lucky one here, seeing the damage to his body. Steve isn't being an asshole—he's still rotting with guilt about it—he's merely stating an ugly truth. Life hasn't been kind to him in this department, to either of them to be honest, for wholly different reasons. Steve feels a little pang in his chest remembering how smooth and confident his friend used to be, snatching girlfriends away right under their noses.

"She an actress too?" 

Steve likes how Peter indulges his friend by granting him the honor to use the adverb _too._ Buck's been a so-called aspiring actor since he quit the army. He probably used to have a pretty face, back in the days... Now he's got too many scars than Hollywood can handle and a too visible disability to be ignored. Hard to find other roles than war vets or mobsters. Well, at least he's got Instagram.

To everyone's utter surprise, their guy seems to have been scouted to make some sexy pictures. Apparently it's called art. Or raising awareness, Steve's not sure anymore. He does look hot on those pictures though. Steve can admit that at least.

At least life seems to be turning around for his best mate.

Not as much that he can afford a whole weekend in a Malibu mansion for he and his former army pals, though.

Bucky makes a grimace that indicates how cold they are and keeps the mystery around her. They keep harassing him with questions, like "Is it her or her parents' house?"

"Hers."

"What does she do then? How does she make that much money?"

There's an amused glint in the drunken glow of his blow-out pupils. "Divorced well, I presume." He says, not without some goofiness in his lopsided grin.

Dumbstruck pairs of eyes stained with immoral fascination instantly turn to Buck, questioning.

The guy just shrugs and grants them a conceited pout.

The larger than large hand of one Thor smacks Bucky's knee. "Bucky Barnes! If I had known..." He exclaims in a roar. Eyes sparkling with tasteless bro-like pride.

This is the moment Steve's mind starts flying away, once again excessively bored with dishonest—and slightly misogynistic—sex talk as if he hadn't had this conversation countless times already. It feels like they've been talking about the same things for decades. Even when it's his best friend right now bragging about the prowesses of his older lover in the bedroom.

Another one of these moments where he feels so much at odds with his peers. 

As opposed to everyone else in their little group of friends, Steve isn't particularly enthusiastic about spending the following days binge-drinking, getting high and fooling around in the alleged huge swimming pool of an equally huge mansion by the sea in Malibu. And not only because he's not so keen on the first two activities and feels awkward about the last one in general. There's something that's bothering him in the idea of crashing someone else's place while they're away and possibly not aware about any of it, if the slightly strained grin on his best friend is any indication.

He bends to the majority anyway and admires the beautiful landscape from the window during their two-hours long journey from Los Angeles to Malibu while they're still joking about the things _she_ does with her mouth. Since Buck moved to LA, they haven't had the chance to spend much time together, although it's only two hours or so away from their base in San Diego. They don't see each other much since their paths split apart. Only Steve makes the effort and it has almost become like a new routine for him. But now they're all on leave for the next two weeks so why the fuck not enjoy Malibu for once. It seems to make Buck happy at least, like he hasn't been for a long time. Not ever since he was honorably discharged, minus an arm. How long has it been since the last time the whole crew spent some time together? An eternity away.

The journey was long but worth it in the end.

The swimming pool _is_ huge as promised, as is the mansion although the decor is a little bit impersonal. The scenery however is absolutely breathtaking. Steve stands awestruck in front of the ocean view for several minutes. He almost sheds a tear. Perhaps he could start drawing again, if he feels like it. He still carries his sketchbook around everywhere even if he hasn't drawn anything in years.

He's brought back on earth by the strong pat of Bucky's good hand on his shoulder. "So, what do you think?"

"It's beautiful, Buck."

Bucky smiles and it's an honest and genuinely happy smile that brightens his face and it warms Steve's heart, pushing away the last of his worries. 

"Yeah, 'beautiful' can't quite describe this though."

Steve lets out a soft chuckle and feels a shiver running down his spine as he watches the ocean. The sun starts setting and gives an eerie sort of halo to the oily water in front of them. It's only the two of them outside, since the others have started running around the mansion, getting their self-given tour of the house and choosing which room they're gonna sleep in. So far, Buck hasn't given them many restrictions. He might regret that later. Or that mysterious lover of his might.

Who would trust Bucky with a spare key anyway? Steve wouldn't.

He pinches his lips and can't help asking. "You do realize how fishy that looks, though?" He's taking the very welcomed opportunity to bring it up while they're enjoying some alone time together that's probably not gonna last.

"It's not fishy Stevie, I swear."

"How can it not be? You telling me that girlfriend of yours just gave you a spare key out of love for you? Come on."

"Well... Maybe not out of love but—"

Steve feels another pang in his chest as his eyes wander to the fake skin of his friend's prosthetics. "Are you hustling, Buck?" He suddenly asks, unable to hide the worries from his voice.

"Wha— _No!"_ His friend retorts. "No. Nothing like that, Stevie come on. Look at me."

"I don't know." Steve sighs, hunching his shoulders. "I'm sure some people are totally into that."

"Yeah, I don't even wanna know." Buck exclaims. "If there's one thing I really don't want in my life is being defined by this. This is _not_ my identity."

"Okay." Steve just says, and keeps the rest of it inside. _It's part of you though, now. Whether you want it or not._

Buck gives him a knowing glance and his smile fades a little, something sad overshadowing it. "This is real, man." He exclaims, as if trying to convince himself more than to convince Steve. "I think I'm happy."

"Cool."

"I like h—" He hesitates and it's somehow cute. Steve feels the corners of his mouth quirk up without knowing. "I like _her."_

He can't help the smile from spreading on his face. Why couldn't his friend be allowed that?

"So what's her name?"

"Toni."

He raises skeptical eyebrows. "Unusual," he comments.

Bucky bears another one of his shy grins, filled with affection. "Toni's not a usual gal. She's so much more than that."

"So, she really _is_ older than you?"

"Forty five..." Bucky admits.

Steve huffs out a choked out noise. "Oh my gosh!" He exclaims. "Twenty years."

Twenty years...

If that doesn't raise Steve's suspicions again but then he just knows, doesn't he? They both enlisted at the age of eighteen, joined the marine corps together. Two boys from Brooklyn with no future. It's just seven years—six for Buck—but seven years in the field is like half a lifetime for random civilians. Steve feels so much older than he actually is sometimes, so disconnected. Maybe that makes sense in a way. And yet they're still babies, with no real life experience, no real connection to the world, nothing about life that matters.

"She could have children your age!" He exclaims.

Bucky chuckles. "I guess so. When you put it like that."

Steve frowns. "Does she have kids your age?"

Bucky makes a strangled noise. "No!" He yelps. "I mean, she _has_ kids but they're way younger than me. And they don't live here, by the way. Before you start ranting about how inappropriate it is that we're here. That's totally fine. I've seen way worse than we're ever gonna do happening in this pool right there."

Steve crosses his arms on his chest and stares at the horizon.

It does make sense after all.

Over the course of the weekend, however, Steve does wonder what kind of things might have happened in that particular pool that could possibly be any worse than what's they're doing in it at that precise moment. He might as well ignore the whole thing altogether.

He ends up running off to the room he chose for himself and sleeps it off.

He can't help thinking this weekend is gonna end in a disaster. Once Thor and Peter are getting started, you can't stop them. Especially when Thor has the bad habit of bringing his younger brother, who's the best definition of trouble, every time they're up to no good. Therefore, Loki just tagged along which foretells nothing good for the rest of that story, really. The three of them make a bad combo.

Steve can't even remember what day it is. Why did he let the others persuade him to swallow that blue pill? He has a horrendous headache now. He knows military boys tends to do drugs, to cope. A lot of them do. He caught some of his squad doing it several times but before today, he had never tried it himself.

Why now? He wonders.

And how is it that Bucky knows who to call, how to find the money and provides them with about any kind of drugs they wanna try on. May it be pizza, booze, pot, coke... or stronger. Or even _girls..._ Bucky assured him they were not paid but he can't help the creepy feeling he gets every time one of them looks at him and smiles that shallow wanton smile they're all giving them. He and Buck are probably the only ones here who haven't dipped their cookies so far.

He does understand why Bucky would want to treat his friends to nice—to a _nice_ moment—but that would be overdoing it, by far. He honestly truly hopes in his heart that his friend is telling him the truth. The alternative just gives him chills. Which is another reason why he escapes to his room. Plus, he's drunk.

The next time Steve wakes up, there are pizza boxes, Chinese take-out left-overs, plastic cups, empty bottles and beer cans scattered everywhere. Loud music blaring from every room. Everything even remotely hollow has been used as an ashtray. The couch-cushions have been torn apart, duffle spread everywhere, and he doesn't even have a name for the current color of the water in the swimming pool. Not to mention all the things floating on the surface or deep at the bottom that should definitely _not_ be there.

Both inside and outside, half-naked bodies are sprawled on the sofas, some of them wriggling suspiciously against each other. And making noises Steve's head is too foggy to register.

Steve rubs his eyes and wishes he was somewhere else.

He's munching on a cold pizza slice when Clint urges in that common area they've sort of invested with a haggard expression on his face. "Bucky," he calls, "there's some guy at the entrance who claims he owns this house. So, I tried to explain and everything but he wouldn't have any of it. I think there might be a misunderstanding of some sort. Perhaps you should go yourself. I think he's pissed. I'm afraid I said something I shouldn't have... Sorry."

Bucky, who was half-sleeping on one of the huge couches, sits up in a jerk. He's livid. 

He looks around and drops his head in his flesh hand in some kind of desperate gesture and wipes his face, bracing himself. "Fuck!"

He sighs. His hand is trembling but he takes a deep breath and finally finds the courage to get up and leave the room.

Fuck, the _husband,_ Steve thinks immediately. Of course, she was married. Steve has known something was off about the whole thing since the beginning. She's not divorced. The house isn't hers. That was somehow too beautiful to be true.

He discards the pizza slice and strides after his friend. After all, he's always been the best at negotiating their way out of that kind of situation. Besides, he's probably the only one among them who's clear-headed enough for a confrontation. He won't let his best pal take it for all of them. Just like they've always done in the past, Steve barges in into the fight, supporting Buck the way the latter did for him so many times before. 

Except it's nothing like before.

There's no fight per se. Not the kind Steve expected anyway.

"What the fuck, Jim!" He hears the man say.

"I thought you were gonna come back on Tuesday." Bucky answers sheepishly.

"It _is_ Tuesday." The man yells, sounding a little sardonic. Then he looks at his very expensive watch. "Oh, look, it's almost _Wednesday."_

The rest of the conversation falls blurry into the background as Steve focuses on the way their lips move fiercely. Angrily for the man's. Apologetic and scared for Bucky. 

The man's eyes are icy and Bucky, despite behind taller, looks hunched up like a faulty child. Steve stares at the man, tall, dark hair, a well-groomed goatee on his squared face. There's something sophisticated about him. He contrasts with their lots. His whole attitude does. He's wearing a gray blue three-pieces suit, very classy, elegant, and he's holding a leather suitcase just as trendy and elegant. Even the way he stands stinks of money.

Steve walks closer and notices how blue his eyes are. Deep and so light on the inside of his irises. It's almost eerie. He's very handsome, Steve notices. He's the type to notice that kind of details, even about a man. He can tell the guy is handsome and looks familiar somehow, even if he can't quite place it where he's seen him before.

The blue eyes are sending daggers. The expression on Bucky's face looks crestfallen.

Steve takes a few more steps and reaches out. "Listen, we're ver—" 

Both men turn to him when he speaks with his deep voice. The look of appalled astonishment on his friend's face is daunting. Steve stops and glances at the other man in a discomfited way.

The dark-haired man stares at him from the corner of his eye. The way his eyes rake over him from head to toe, undressing him contemptuously, says a lot about all the nice things he seems to be thinking about Steve right now.

"Mind your own fucking business, blondie." The look on his face is heinous.

Steve is speechless.

Bucky lets out a shivering breath. He glances at Steve and is even more livid than before. Steve has never seen so much fear in his eyes before. Not before, or after that day when he lost his arms and was bleeding to death.

"I'm gonna have a long shower." The man says as coldly as death itself. "When I get out I want you and your buddies out of my house. Leave the key on the counter." 

He says it in a way no-one disobeys and walks away.

In a desperate attempt, Bucky grabs the man's wrist. The man stops in his tracks and glares at him, if glances could kill Bucky would be dead right now.

"Tony wait."

The man stares at his own wrist and back up into Bucky's eyes. "Let me go and get the fuck out of here. I don't wanna see your face anymore."

Bucky lets go of his hand and lets out another shivering breath. His eyes are teary when he unintentionally glances at Steve.

_Tony?_

Toni.

Tony.

Now he remembers where he's already seen the man .

He looks at the sheepish expression on his friend's face and suddenly everything clicks. There's a shiver running down his spine. His inner self might as well laugh hard at this. Two majorly fucked-up things occur to him in an instant. One, he's currently crashing in Tony Stark's place. Two, his best friend fucks men. Or at least, that said Tony Stark.

His voice is more hesitant than he intended when he asks. "Buck?"

His best friend's crestfallen face seems to be silently showering him with profuse apologies. He looks terrified in so many ways, it's heartbreaking. "I'm so sorry, steve. I—I—I've been wanting to tell you. So many times before I—"

So.... Apparently it's not only that one guy that his best friend seems to have been fucking behind Steve's back.

"How long?" Steve retorts, a little too curtly. 

Buck looks startled for a moment and then he sniggers bitterly. "How long what?"

"How long have you known?"

His friend turn deeply hurt eyes to him and shakes his head slowly, disappointedly. "Since forever I guess." He explains half-heartedly. "But if you're asking about when I've consciously known then I guess, when I started jerking off to the memories of all those sweaty naked chest at bootcamp. I never acted on it though, you know, don't ask, don't tell and everything. As for me and Tony, well, a few months... And don't freak out all right, I've never looked at you that way."

Steve's not freaking out. Not about that anyway.

"DADT ended in 2011." He snaps back, ignoring those last bits of information.

Bucky snorts in a bitterly sort of way. "Yeah, well. That doesn't mean it's all mushy mushy and gay-friendly now. You should know!"

Steve doesn't. After all, he likes girls... Although they're not his priority right now, or _ever._ His country comes first and then girls. Or rather, let him rephrase it properly, his country comes first, then his buddies come second, and then girls. He's aware of the overwhelming homophobia that looms over in army camps however but he, himself, has never really had an opinion about it. He guesses he was happy he's never really been intimately concerned about it.

Now he just feels hurt his best friend never trusted him before to tell him the truth. That's what he wants to say right now but instead he stares at him silently. They both look into each other's eyes for a long moment while Bucky's breathing steadies slowly.

"You really like this guy, don't you?"

Bucky looks pained. "Yeah." He mutters softly. So softly and ashamedly Steve almost doesn't hear him. 

"Then don't give up so easily."

His voice sounds a little hoarse at first but then it recovers its full strength. Something needs to be done immediately about the state of this house and Bucky looks helpless. 

" _Alright guys,_ " Steve shouts in his captain voice. He's done that thousands times before. " _Get your lazy asses over here and start cleaning up this mess. I want this house sparkling in less than twenty minutes._ " 


	2. Chapter 2

Another shitty day.

To top it off, his plane was late due to bad weather. Fuck the weather. He _pays_ to avoid that kind of inconvenience.

It's just another fucking shitty day and he needs a drink. 

Another shitty day to complete a shitty weekend, which ended another truly shitty week of his shitty life.

Yeah, that's it. Tony doesn't have any better word for it. _Shitty._ His whole life is shitty. His past was shitty, his present is shitty and he doesn't have anything else than shitty prospects for his future. Why does he even bother trying to make things better? Pepper was so fucking clear about it.

Fuck New York! Fuck his ex and fuck that perfect family image they're trying to sell us. Why did he ever think that could have been his life? Fuck his life.

He _needs_ a drink. 

He always does but now more than ever. 

The lights are on when Happy quickly drops him off on the threshold of his house and urges home, wherever it is Happy lives, he's got no idea to be honest. He feels like an asshole and at the same time there's an overwhelming feeling of abandon overflowing his heart. It pangs.

The lights are on... And frankly, Tony doesn't know what to think of it. Well, he does have an idea but he doesn't know what to make of it. On one hand, if Jimmy's there that means Tony can expect a good fuck before going to bed, something to take the edge off. Or even a good spanking or even a whipping in his weirdest dreams, always a good way to take his mind off things and Tony does need the distraction. On the other hand he's just not in the mood. His head is aching. His eyes burn. He's so exhausted they seem to be frozen, dry and still and unable to close. He's not in the mood to see anyone anymore for today. What he craves for isn't sex, he just wants peace. He's _had_ sex. Had _decades_ of sex. Sometimes amazing sex, most of the time boring. Well, in hindsight it feels boring and dull. At the time it felt like a new whole world of hopes. What can sex offer him now?

How can sex make him forget those little teary eyes looking at him expectantly only to be disappointed again? How can sex make him forget the evidence of his failures? Can it make him forget how much of disappointment he is. To his wife, to his daughter, to his sons. To _himself._ To the little boy that swore to himself he would never be like his father and guess what? He's not like his father, he's _worse._

Sex can lead up to make pretty bad decisions actually, especially in his case. No, the only thing that appeals to him now is a drink. A fucking drink. A strong one or perhaps the whole bottle because it's been an eternity since the days one drink was enough for him. Yeah, that's a nice prospect. Drinking until he passes out. 

Perhaps he can have the sex too after all, if he's not required to do anything else but take it. As long as he passes out in the end. 

Nice prospect. Livable one, at least.

Needless to say, he had not expected the kind of welcome he received that night in his own home. If it can be called a home by the society standards. Tony had never known how unsettling it could be to find your home, even one you never felt home in, trashed. He had never thought it would be something he'd be bothered about, after all he's trashed it himself countless times before, but seeing the mess of it now. Coming home late at night and expecting a quiet and peaceful shelter only to find your place _wrecked._ And the smell of it, pungent and violating his nostrils. A mix of booze and puke, sex, greasy food and the dry, sticky smell of smoke invading. He feels raped. _Assaulted_ in his intimacy. 

Jimmy fucking Barnes...

A notification would have been nice, at least.

If he'd been a little prepared for it maybe... Maybe he wouldn't feel like that, like he might take the long range loaded rifle hidden in the wall next to the front door and commit murder — he can even visualize the bloodied bodies strewn everywhere — or cry. Pick up your choice.

He feels his hand shake with rage and strengthen his grip on his suitcase. A girl wearing nothing but pink lace panties passes by him and smiles to him like she wants to fuck him. Oh god, is she even _legal?_ Tens of bad outcomes to this starts outlining in his head. All of them involves his lawyers. He might have to give them a call later. 

Some blond guy thinks he's legitimate in Tony's home and from the quick exchange of words with him Tony understands he's become some kind of crazy sex addict divorcee who likes to be tied up and banged hard by young and vigorous army boys. And isn't that the fucking truth in the end... Apart from the female genitals, obviously.

He had it coming.

Why, for the life of him, _why_ did he ever think it would be a nice thought to grant the man free access to his place? He must have been out of his fucking mind then. Pity probably. The guy certainly looks cu— _pitiful_. Oh boy, he's getting soft...

Whatever, Tony has been wanting out of it for weeks — months? He can't quite remember — now. It's been going on for far too long at this point and it stopped being fun a long time ago. Right this instant, he's truly wondering why he hasn't broken things off already. He's not even into it anymore. He never was, to be honest. He just can't quite refuse him anything.

He's certainly getting soft. 

That puppy face doesn't suit a body like Barnes's. Tony almost hesitates. What's wrong with him? _Just throw him out already for Christ's sake!_ It's not like he hasn't been trying to find an excuse to do it for _months._ They don't match. Whatever it is they're doing, it's not working. It _can't_ work. Tony doesn't even like the guy. He doesn't even like the kind of sex they have. Yeah, it was fun experimenting at first but the guy is scary as shit and Tony can't handle him anymore. He was—he was a nice distraction but fuck! He did not expect the guy to develop _feelings._ Feelings... What a horrendous thing to say. Oh, he _did_ feel a little proud of himself, he admits, for opening his virgin eyes to a whole new world full of possibilities but now he needs to let him fly on his own. Tony just opened the door. He never really wished to get inside in the first place. He did step a foot, though. Maybe more than a foot. Oh god, he's totally gotten in that world, hasn't he?

Jimmy looks like his life depends on whatever Tony is going to say. 

It should probably be heartbreaking in a way, if Tony had a heart. Why would anyone even bother trying to like him? He certainly didn't do anything to encourage that sort of sketchy behavior. Must be the age thing or the sex thing, or both. Fuck, he's _so_ done fucking sexually frustrated closeted homos and bi-curious homophobic pricks. Story of his life...

There is a moment during which Tony is trying to repress his blinding rage and Jimmy keeps apologizing with hopeful puppy eyes. The silence lingers.

And there he is, poster boy. Here again that foolish fantasy of the perfect family lie laughing at Tony's face for even dare trying. Isn't blondie the perfect example to complete the array? And the worst part is, Tony thinks he even knows who that is. Steven fucking Rogers or _Bucky's_ walking fantasy best friend to whom the guy vows his eternal love and unbounded admiration. He definitely looks like a Steve Rogers anyway. Tony blames it on his fucking hypersensitive mind and curses his good memory. Why in hell would he remember something like that? And why was he even listening to it in the first place? It's not like he cares. He probably wasn't, in hindsight. He just can't fucking help _paying_ attention. Curse him! And another one of Tony's big flaws that lead to disastrous misunderstandings and people falling for him when they definitely should know better.

Tony feels his skin crawl and oh how he already hates the guy with all his guts. 

Blondie shuts up. Jimmy is looking for hole to bury himself in and Tony can't wait to have a shower, collapse on his bed and lie on it like a dead starfish. A drink or two and maybe some pot would be a great addition to this perfect evening. The hell with everything else.

He takes his time in the shower, enjoying every part of his body relaxing under the heat of the water. He savors every drop of it, reveling in the way each drop prickles on his sensitive skin. He rubs the sweat off his body, the dirt, and his sorrows away. He spreads his hand on his stomach and brushes it up his lathered chest, roll it around his neck, tries to remember the touch of jimmy's lips on it. Or the last person who's been there, probably not Jimmy then. He curls it around his shoulder and down his arm, touches the tips of his fingers with his own fingertips. The feeling is soft and unnerving. He feels the arousal coil in his loins. He grabs his cock and is almost tempted to stroke himself off to the memory of his trashed place, to the pungent smell and all those half-naked, albeit really hot, bodies sprawled everywhere on his couches, adding some extra stains on the not so perfectly white leather anymore. Tony was never the materialistic kind of guy anyway. He thinks of Barnes's dejected face and blondie's genuinely apologetic, almost empathic one, that asshole. It's even better jerk-off material but he saves it for later when he's got lube and a comfortable bed to lay on. When he's sure they've scrammed, that his place is empty, that the key sits well on his counter, the promise of blissed loneliness, so he can mull over his sorry semblance of a life by himself, on his own, _alone._

_Alone._ _Alone._ _Alone._

Fucking _alone._

That fucking key on that fucking counter, sitting there, _alone._ Only memento from a thing he can't even quite find the word to describe but is certain that lasted way too long for anyone's good. He doesn't even know why he kept a key. A key is such a twentieth century thing to have and certainly not the best way to keep his place protected from burglars, rapists and fanatics. He probably liked the metaphor. Like an ode to absent love or the beauty of snail mail. Something which didn't need words. Tony is such a poet.

Fuck, he needs a drink. That would have been the first thing he'd done if the sight of his place hadn't made him nauseous to the point he almost retched and the urge to scratch himself clean hadn't been stronger than his yearning for booze.

Why does he keep seeing the sadness in those light silver blues? His eyes usually burn with something much darker than this sickening melancholy. 

When he gets out and slides into his silken bathrobe, the arousal roils deep in his lower belly still, lingering. His skin is a sweet burn, reddish with too hot water for too long. He huffs out a sigh and almost stumbles, dizzy with exhaustion and vapory high. His rage is gone, flowed out of him, down in the drain along with the soapy water and his own piss. He rubs his cock and scratches his balls. He's feeling empty, only left with his weariness, his unsatisfied libido and his incurable loneliness. 

He might take something stronger than weed and booze tonight. Surely there must have some of it left, since he's quite sure he's the one who paid for it anyway.

He rakes a hand in his hair and takes a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever he's gonna find down the stairs. What he finds, though, is quite unexpected. The key does sit on the counter, alone, but _he_ isn't. It's rushing around him. The place is (almost) clean like everything was just a horrific nightmare he just woke up from. The windows are open and the air freshened. The girls must have been nicely escorted outside because he can't spot even one female specimen, even only remotely. He hopes they had the decency to at least pay for the cab. He really hates straight people, he thinks. Well, except Pepper obviously. And Rhodey? Is he straight himself? What if he is in the end? That would explain that deep dissatisfaction he feels whenever he falls into bed with someone. Or rather the deep, unnerving loneliness he can't quite escape from afterward. Whoever it was he just banged. Maybe that's not it then.

He doesn't even have the time to get his head around it that he's handed a drink. Martini, served with an olive in one of his best crystal glasses. The man has taste. Or he knows Tony too well. That's the scariest thought ever. 

He takes a sip and the alcohol rushes to his head, quenching his parched mind. He closes his eyes for a split second and enjoys the burn in his throat. How fucking blissful it feels! Tony might even come from this, in other circumstances. He takes another one to feel better and finally opens his eyes. He swirls around in slow motion, watching his freshly cleaned place. They've done a— _passable_ job, at the most, but Tony can at least admire the effort they put into it. It's the intention that matters, isn't it? He keeps watching around him, savoring the moment and leering at the dance of busy cleaning boys, working hard right outside the French doors. Half-naked still and smoking hot too, they're trying to get his pool its original color back. What a nice thought. 

The joint is rolled and already lit, it's slipped in between his fingers and Tony only has to bring it to his mouth and take a drag. What an even nicer thought. Who said he doesn't like being handed things? They must have been out of their mind.

He does take a drag and feels the smoke invade his lungs, burning its way in, his mind soon foggy and relaxed. All kind of unwanted thoughts fading in the background. Booze, pot and hot guys. Such a nice combo.

Maybe it isn't the worst night of his life after all.

What other nice surprise might be awaiting? His curiosity is boundless. He glances up and his eyes meet light sliver ones. They're tender. Too tender for Tony to handle. He needs out but then he feels too good right now to even try to budge. Jimmy's looking at him worriedly. His smile is shy and hopeful and fuck Tony hadn't planned for his heart to make a little loop at the sight. That's not fair. Don't fucking trap him like this! 

Outside, busy bees are bustling under the command of one stern, but efficient, blondie. Inside it's just him and Jimmy, alone together. They're staring at each together silently and the distance between them is suddenly painful. What did he say he didn't want sex? He _craves_ for the warmth of a body. He craves for someone's warmth around him, for someone's sweat wet and heady, sliding against him. He craves for someone's touch. No, he _longs_ for it.

Without thinking Tony reaches a hand with the unconscious intent to comb the sexy strand of brown hair out of his lover's face. It's a short but intimate moment interrupted by a slight flinch and the fear flashing through Barnes's eyes. The young man makes a swift glance outside the window. The bastard hasn't old them about himself, has he? Fuck it, whatever...

His silver blues look apologetic and helpless, like he's scared he's done something unrepairable. He wants to take Tony's wrist again, to keep him there, but he can't quite resolve himself to do it. Tony smiles to him but it's dry and empty. It's enough to make him speak however.

"I'm sorry, Tony. I—I got so excited, so thrilled about all of this, about us. I wanted to share it with my guys, you know. I really didn't think it would end like this. Things got a little out of control." 

Yeah, that's usually what happens when you provide jaded men with free drugs, booze and booty calls and leave them unattended in a villa by the sea that's not theirs in the absence of the owner. Has he not seen _The Hangover?_ But who's judging?

"You know if you'd just asked me, I'd have said yes." Tony answers and it sounds awfully sad and weary. How dare his own voice betray him like that. He's not even sad. He's just empty. 

"I'm so sorry. I should have told you. I hope... I hope we can make amend. We've cleaned everything up." His smile doesn't even lack the hint of pride.

"Yeah, that's nice but you shouldn't have bothered. We have staff for that, you know?"

Jimmy smiles softly and lowers his head in a rather pitiful way. 

Tony feels extremely tired and in a need to forget about the whole thing. He sighs. "I don't care." He mutters reassuringly and he's almost sincere about it. Like, ninety nine percent sincere. Sixty percent sincere? Whatever...

Something happens, is happening, Tony doesn't know but it's silent and the mood is somehow relaxed and Jimmy's posture seems to loosen and his smile, his cute lopsided smile is spreading softly on his face. He chuckles softly and the sound of it goes right down Tony's spine. His eyes burn with something that might have been desire but he still can't muster the courage to reach out to Tony. 

Tony takes another drag and hands him the joint back.

Jimmy's smile is dangerous. "Is there something else I can do for you, maybe?" He says and Tony feels suddenly confused by the strong intent in his eyes.

He stumbles back and the robe opens on his chest. Tony tilts his head on the side and strokes the nape of his neck hesitantly, brushing his fingers into his wet hair. He doesn't even do it intentionally, or maybe he does. Who can know for sure? Jimmy's eyes flash with something wanton. 

"Yeah, actually. There is," he finally says. Jimmy looks at him expectantly, eyes filled with hope and hazy with lingering lust. "How about I go finish my drink in the jacuzzi and you come and meet me there while your friends finish it up here. Then, you fuck my throat until I bleed and when I'm wrecked enough you carry me up to my bedroom and fuck me to oblivion until I spill my guts out and pass out on my bed. And then, you can do whatever you wanna do. I don't care."

Jimmy's eyes open wide at first and then he laughs. It's awkward and hesitant but lustful. 

"How am I gonna carry you up there with one hand?"

"I don't care. Find a way!"

Jimmy pinches his lips and licks over them. "Yeah, I can do that." He says huskily. His eyes are already hazy, burning with the familiar nastiness Tony's always known him to have.

Tony stares into his eyes for a moment. He takes a sip of his drink and licks his lips too, biting them wantonly. "Good." He takes a few steps back, heading for the jacuzzi on the northern terrace, and keeps looking at his lover like an animal on the watch. 

"Does that mean I can keep the key, then?" Jimmy shouts in the distance.

"We'll see about that." Tony answers.

There is something really pleasant and satisfying about shagging younger men. They're always so eager to please you. Tony just needed to ask and Jimmy did just that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I should write that scene or not.. smut is really not my forte but for some unfathomable reasons I can't help myself and keep trying it anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

That morning, Steve wakes up early.

He goes for a run down on the beach, marvels at the view again, admits to himself those few days have been quite the experience. Perhaps he's not as eager as the others seemed to be about a repeat, however.

When he walks back inside, the house seems to be alive again. He sneaks away under an amazing shower. It feels like a spa and, admittedly, certainly changes him from the showers at the base. Perhaps, he stays a little longer than he should have. His hair is still dripping when he heads toward the noise and trickles down the furrow of his back, damping his shirt along the line of his spine. He rakes a hand in them.

Everyone's down there, shouting and throwing napkins at each other. So energetic in the morning. He feels like a kindergarten teacher. 

On the huge kitchen island lays the biggest breakfast Steve ever saw, aside from all-you-can-eat diners where the quality certainly doesn't match this feast fit for a king. Steve scratches his head and hears his stomach rumble. He splays an absent-minded hand on it and brushes softly down his abs, rumpling his loose shirt in the process. 

Everyone's already stuffing themselves like pigs. Well, everyone but a certain buddy of them and their possibly lover. The sight somehow puts a smile on his face.

Thor notices him and sports a beaming smile. "Steven!" He hears the cavernous voice of his friend shout. Thor waves at him. "Come over! Bucky ordered breakfast for us!"

The others turn to him and smile similarly. "Come on, man." Sam calls out while biting into a pancake. "It's heaven on earth."

"Didn't know pancakes could taste like this!" Peter admits in the middle of munching, at least that's what Steve thought he said. Clint just makes sinful noises to express his opinion on the matter. Loki is rolling his eyes next to him but still strokes his full stomach contentedly.

"Look, there are _types."_

Steve looks, starving but only vaguely interested. He sits down next to Sam. "Where's Buck?" He asks absent-mindedly.

"Taking one for the team, man." Clint answers while hitting the top of his stomach and yawning. 

"Bless him." Sam adds, fingers on his lips. He presses his hand on his heart and waves at the sky looking up.

"Been at it _all_ morning!" Peter adds with a certain viciousness in the voice. He grins. Loki snorts at the tone.

Steve takes a bagel and ignores them.

"Well, I must admit that hadn't expected that when Buckyboy told us about his _divorcee."_ Clint says with air quotes. 

Steve frowns at him. "And what's that supposed to mean?" He asks with a tinge of anger in the tone.

"A fucking faggot," Clint replies. 

"A _billionaire_ faggot," Thor remarks.

"A fucking billionaire fag!" Clint corrects with a grin. 

"Bucky's the smartest of us all." Peter jokes. "He's nailed it!"

"Damn yeah!" Sam adds, probably more for the joke than anything. Knowing Sam... "I'll fuck every fag's ass on earth if I could live here!" 

Everyone laughs. Steve's lost his appetite. 

Peter stands up and takes cool beers from the fridge and hands them over. Steve looks at his watch, it's barely half past ten. The glass clinks and beers is spilt over the five star breakfast. They're all sniggering. "To billionaire faggots!" Peter toasts. 

"To our best pal Bucky's for his sacrifice to our cause!"

They all make stupid toasts of the same calibre one after the other. Steve feels the bile coming up his throat. 

One of them, for once, says nothing. It's Loki. He stares at the scene aloofly, a semblance of a smile quirking up one corner of his mouth. He's slightly leaning against his brother, as if seeking his protective warmth. 

"I, sure, for one, could get used to this!" Peter exclaims. "This is place is _dope,_ man!"

"Fuck yeah!" The others agrees.

"Yeah, that was fun," Steve admits. "Time to go, though. I think we've overstayed our welcome enough..."

"Don't be a spoilsport, cap!" Thor chastises. "I'm sure Bucky's working hard right now to extend it. We've still got ten days, man!""

Everyone laughs again.

That's when Bucky finally makes an appearance. He's paces over them hesitantly but he's got a shine about him. The proud smile of satisfaction and contentment remains on his lips. There's a glimpse of happiness in his mischievous eyes. 

He receives everyone's cheers. Thor drums on the island. Everyone else claps and whistles. He's crimson red and shows them an embarrassed, though no less proud, grin as he sits down with the rest of them.

Clint gives a congratulatory tap on his shoulder blade. "Well played, man!" He is handed an uncapped beer too that he starts drinking while picking up food from the island.

The others are giddy. "Does that mean we can stay a little bit longer?"

Bucky shrugs, unable to stop the grin from brightening his flushed face. His expression is slightly embarrassed however, slightly strained. "Don't know," he mutters hoarsely. "I'll ask Tony."

"So, what now?" Peter asks more seriously. "You're queer now?"

Bucky jerks his head up and his eyes flicker with something painful before the strained, crimson, embarrassed grin comes back on his face. "Hell no!" He exclaims. There's a glint of sadness in his eyes however and Steve feels a pang in his chest. He wishes he told them the truth. Yeah, their friends are stupid morons but also he's pretty sure they won't give a shit about it, despite what it looks like.

"An ass is an ass, though." Bucky says amusedly, tongue ticking against his teeth. "Look around, man!" He adds with some pride in his voice as he shows the place around with his single arm. "Ain't worth it?"

"Totally."

"I'll go gay anytime for this. Have him buy you a car, bro!"

"Yeah man, squeeze the fucking cash out of the fag!"

This is at the exact moment Stark chooses to walk out on them. 

Bucky laughs nervously. He hasn't seen him. "Yeah, I'll do that." He mumbles while scratching his stubble with an ill-at-ease expression on his face. "Thanks for the tip." 

Stark is wearing a red silk bathrobe with golden lining. He looks tired and weary, his face is pale but if he was in anyway affected by what's just been said about him then he certainly doesn't show it. He looks unfazed, indifferent, _absent._ He casts a chill. No-one fucking open their mouth anymore. Bucky's eyes glimmer with fear. His frown is sullen.

Stark saunters past the island right to the coffee maker, ignoring the lots of them. "Coffee." He rasps in a needy voice and wavers on his feet.

Steve stands up in a jerk and runs to him, thinking he's gonna collapse on the floor but he just leans against the counter, expression foggy like there's a constant dark cloud above his head. Their eyes meet and Steve is instantly pulled in by the ethereal light blue of his eyes. He stares for a moment. Their eyes lock into each other silently. "I'll make your coffee," Steve suddenly blurts out.

Stark snorts a surprised giggle. He gazes at Steve dubiously. His eyes have an unusual glow in them. They're hazy and dull like there's a light veil over them. So different from the intense unsettling focus Steve saw in them the night previous. Now, they're empty and make Steve feel very uncomfortable.

Stark makes an abrupt, clumsy move and the loose knot of his bathrobe lets go, revealing the very nakedness of the man. Steve stares. His eyes rake over his toned body, down the line of his collarbone to the hollow between the muscles on his chest and down his stomach. He's covered in love bites and bruises, he notices. There's one at the bottom of his neck, another one on his shoulder and one on his right hip. His wrists, that are somehow both strong and delicate, bears the marks of restraints. 

Steve's breath catches in his throat. He swallows and stares bewilderedly, so much that when he actually moves toward the coffee maker he realizes Stark already had it running.

When the machine beeps ready, the brunet takes a flask from the cupboard and pours the entirety of its content into his smoking mug. He takes a sip. His eyes flutter shut and he licks his lips, biting his bottom tongue as if repressing a moan of pleasure. When he opens his eyes again, they're still dull and veiled and empty, staring right back at Steve but lost into space.

Little did Steve know then that he would never see the intensity of his focus in Stark's sky blue eyes again.

The man picks up a rolled joint out of a small metal box from the cupboard and lights it, huffing the smoke out toward the island.

No-one says a thing.

"I need something stronger," he lets out pensively, staring at the thing in his hand as if it had offended him. "Order something stronger, Jimmy," he demands.

Bucky nods. "Don't you wanna eat something first?" He asks tentatively.

"Not hungry." The older man snaps, sounding indifferent.

Bucky resigns. "Okay," he mutters sullenly. "Can my friends stay?" He asks after a frozen moment of silence. "They're on leave for another week."

Stark turns unimpressed eyes to him and shrugs. "Sure. Whatev."

"We'll need more supplies, then." 

Stark takes another sip of his coffee and sucks on the joint. He spits the smoke on them. "Do what you have to do." He says in a sigh and puts on sunglasses while holding the joint. "Card's on the console table."

And then he's off on the terrace outside. The cup in one hand, the joint in the other.

"I've got one fucking rule, though." He shouts at them while sliding the glass doors open. They all look back at him questioningly, whispering like stupid teenagers on their school seats who just got chastised by the teacher. "No shirts around my pool." He says with a mischievous grin. 

The glass door slams shut and they watch the silk bathrobe slide along his shoulders and down the curve of his ass. Stark is lean and damn well-proportioned for his age. He has the body of someone who works out regularly but not that much that he will look bulky. 

Everyone stares at his rounded naked ass swaying away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Two months previous**

"That's fucking madness, man!" Clint exclaims while scrolling down Bucky's phone, looking at the pictures he's just made with a professional photographer for an exhibition on handicap. "You're _hot!"_ He adds in the same surprised tone. "Damn!"

Bucky feels a little smug and chuckles proudly, wiping the drops of water trickling down his oozing pint of beer. 

"Wow!" Clint exclaims again. "Look at that ass! I'll switch sides for that ass." He jokes.

Bucky shivers. If only that could be true. Not that Bucky particularly fancies him or anything. Well, he has eyes, but that's about as far as it goes. He just wishes he could tell him. That he could tell... _someone._ He doesn't think Clint would stop being friends with him for this, or anything, but still he can't say it. Perhaps because when he finally says it out loud, it becomes real. And then again, he isn't sure of that, isn't sure of anything. He hasn't known Clint for that long. How can he tell Clint when he can't even muster the courage to tell his bros. And why would he anyway? Gay-bashing slang is basically how people talk in the army. Or is that the other way around? He hasn't even told _Steve._ He hasn't told _anyone._ The secrecy is eating him away.

He tries to chuckle but it certainly comes off as a sad smile. His mind wanders off.

"Um, Buck?"

He flickers his eyes back to his friend. The blond has an amused glint in his eyes and hides a smile behind Bucky's phone. 

"There's a certain Hot Piece Of Ass who's asking if you're available tonight, what should I text back?" By the time Bucky realizes what he's saying Clint is euphoric, teasing grin spread on his face. 

Bucky's heart starts racing. He's sure is blushing right now. He feels a tremor in his hand.

"Gimme that back, you moron!" He exclaims while throwing his arm in the air, trying to grab the phone back. He manages to tear it off Clint's hand who is guffawing like a mad man.

He hadn't even noticed it chiming.

He reads the text with a racing heart and unconsciously parts his lips. The phone suddenly vibrates in his hand and he swipes across the screen with his thumb.

"Sorry, I need to take this." He says, leaving his half-full pint of beer on the counter and his stupid friend winking at him salaciously, grin spread wide.

He's outside in less than three seconds. 

"Hey!" 

_"Hey."_ The raspy sound sends spikes of electricity down his spine. _"You free right now?"_

He rolls his tongue on his bottom lip and bite it down in want. His entire body shivers at the husky voice at the other end of the line. God, how this man drives him crazy!

"Not really." He says regretfully. 

_"Come over."_

"To your house?" Bucky wants to. So fucking much. But he can't just ditch Clint right and Malibu is like the fucking end of the world for someone like him who doesn't have any other means of transport than the fucking bus. "I'm with a friend, right now." He chokes out, forcing those words out of his mouth because they won't just come out. 

_"I'll send a car to pick you up."_

Bucky gasps. He feels his entire body's skin goosebump. The silence lingers... He can only hear the hitching needy breath at the other end of the phone. He swallows. 

"I—"

And stops in the middle of his sentence, unable to say another word. There is honestly nothing he'd rather do, nowhere he'd rather be than inside of Tony right now.

 _"It's okay, Jimmy. You don't have to come."_ Tony interrupts with that passive-aggressive nonchalance of his. _"I'm just a needy old man who's way too fucking lonely on a Thursday night."_

Bucky swallows again.

"I—" He stops again, listening to expectancy in the other man's breathing. He looks up and notices a dark shine that seems out of place in that shabby neighborhood. He stares at it for an extended while, not daring making a move. "The car's already here, ain't it?" He finally says. 

Tony chuckles at the other end of the line. _"You know me well."_

"How did you even find out where I was?"

_"If you don't want me to know where you are, don't turn your fucking phone on."_

"Did you put a tracker in my phone?"

 _"Didn't have to."_ Tony replies in a sigh and pauses as if he could hear the skeptical face he's sporting right now. _"Jimmy, baby, come on..."_

"How did—" He breathes out and pauses, trying to find the words he means to say. "Never mind."

 _"Look, I'm sorry I just assumed..."_ Tony finally says, sounding genuinely apologetic and not disappointed at all. _"It's not like I'm out of options right now, okay? Just enjoy your night out and text me sometimes in the week, whenever you're free, so I can arrange something. If you're up to it, I mean..."_

Fucking manipulative bitch. 

Tony knows oh so well how to rile him up. Every fucking time.

"I'll pick up my stuff." He rasps, words stuck under that lump in his throat. He feels already hot at the prospect. If in bed Tony does pretty much everything Bucky asks him to do, in the rest of their life he's just got him wrapped around his little finger and has him do exactly what he wants, when he wants, where he wants and Bucky feels like this pathetic little puppy chasing after their master who will always have too wide a stride for them to catch up.

 _"I'll wait for you."_ Tony answers and Bucky is almost certain the way he slurs on his each words breathily is done on purpose so Bucky would keep his boner all along the one-hour long drive.

When he hangs up he feels a shiver run throughout his body. He hisses a breath. 

"I got your coat." He jerks his head back and sees Clint smirking behind him, holding his jacket on the back of his shoulder with two fingers. "Finished your beer too. Didn't think you'd still be here." 

Bucky frowns at him and parts his lips helplessly.

"What are you waiting for? Go fuck that hot piece of ass, you moron! Take one for me, alright?"

Bucky snorts and licks his lips embarrassedly. "I'm just waiting for my ride actually." 

"Great! You think we can share?" Clint asks without the teasing tinge to his voice. 

"Um," Bucky answers hesitantly. "I'm not su—" He stops as they both see a black Mercedes sedan glide along the sidewalk and pull up in front of them. 

Clint's eyebrows shoot up and he gapes at the car. Bucky lets out an amused chuckle. "Daaaaaaamn!" He exclaims while cocking his head. "Did you get yourself a sugar daddy, Buck?" He doesn't say anything else, though, doesn't ask questions, probably figures Bucky met the rich and famous during his photoshoot or something. "Fine," he blurts resignedly, hand buried in his pockets. "I'll take a cab."

The ride is painfully long. Bucky does keep a hard-on all along. Fuck it! He resents Happy at the moment who's yet been a very decent driver and didn't even try to make conversation. Frustration roils in his stomach.

He slams the door shut and strides angrily toward the entrance. It opens by itself. "I've got to fucking _work_ tomor—" He starts saying but the words die down in his throat at the sight of him.

He's leaning on his side against the wall, nonchalantly, wearing those dark blue slacks that fit his ass so perfectly and that close-fitting white shirt that covers enough of his body to ignite Bucky's wild imagination but which is tight enough that he can see the lines of his hips and the V of his abs disappearing in his pants through it. The top button is undone. Just enough to give him this casual looks that suits his perfected messy hairdo. He did on purpose, he knows Bucky has a thing for men in suits. He never wears formal clothes at home. Underneath his shirt, Bucky catches a glimpse of that while gold chain with the initials of his kids hanging from his strong neck that he never gets off. Whenever he sees it Bucky feels the urge to call him Daddy. He never dared though.

Tony's smirking. His eyes glimmer with mischievousness. "Happy will drive you to work tomorrow. Whatever time is necessary, don't worry." His voice is low husky. Sultry like chocolate is melting in his mouth. 

A breath catches in his throat. His mouth dries. 

Whenever he sees him like that Bucky feels like crawling up to him and worship the ground he walks on. He wants to lick the leather of his varnished dress shoes and nuzzle along his legs, wagging his tail, and bury his nose in his crotch, unzip his pants with his teeth and clamp his cock in his mouth, keep it there, warm and wet and hard. Yes, Bucky does like to dominate in bed, most of the time. 

"Are you gonna come in or what?"

Tony is tilting his head on the side, his smile is enticing. Bucky freezes for a moment, a second or two. He clicks his tongue in his mouth and steps up. He pushes Tony against the wall with his broad chest, the older man gladly lets him. Sometimes he prays so hard for having his second hand back so he could grab his waist and carrying him against the wall, fuck into him like that and then he remembers that Tony is almost as tall as he his and, if leaner, he is still heavy. With a brush of his knuckles down his temple and along his jawline, he draws a gasp out of him and a bright grinning smile. Then, his hand settles on his waist and presses into him, trying to catch his lips into a kiss. Tony turns his face at the last moment, avoiding his kiss, and giggles. His breath smells like alcohol but underneath, there is the fragrance so delicate that is Tony which drives him crazy. Tony avoids the kiss again.

He rarely lets him outside of sex. 

His eyes glimmer with mischief as his giggles quiet down. Bucky decides to nibble at the sensitive skin of his neck instead and Tony gasps again. He pushes him back. Bucky's fingers trail down his neck and tangle in the chain, sliding down the links. Tony's hands on his shoulders give a little pressure, signifying him he's going too far. Bucky lets go of the chain and stares into his eyes, frowning. Tony's smile is soft.

"I've got dinner ready," he says, speaking low and soft and hoarsely, almost a whisper. "Are you hungry?"

Don't mistake this for what it isn't. It's not a romantic dinner in any way and Tony certainly didn't cook it himself. Things are very pragmatic in the way Tony plans things. 

Bucky is starving actually and the words remind him that he hasn't had any food in his body since lunch but he is nowhere near able to do anything other than having his cock somewhere inside Tony right now.

"I am," he admits in a hoarse grunt. "But I need to take care of that, first." He takes Tony's hand and places it on the bulge between his legs. The older man smiles and bites his lips. His eyes immediately lose focus and flicker wantonly. He is already in the right headspace, Bucky thinks. Maybe Bucky can take him to that place tonight. He feels a surge of warmth at the thought.

"Good," Tony says in a raspy whisper. His eyes can't quite meet Bucky's anymore. "Because I have a surprise for you..."

Bucky's lips quirk up into a grin. "Yeah?"

Tony puts his hands on Bucky's eyes and presses his entire body against him while leading him upstairs. "I've had this made specially for you," he whispers against his ear, breath warm and heady against his skin, tickling his neck.

He pushes a door open and presses against his back, making Bucking stumble inside. Once Bucky's found balance again he removes his hand and Bucky blinks a few times so his eyes get used to the dim light.

His heart skips a bit.

He can't believe what he's seeing. So this is what Tony had planned all along? Whatever unusual relationship they have, however cold Tony can appear sometimes, this is one of those moments when Bucky _knows_ deep inside that he cares.

Bucky feels a shiver and his body gets hot everywhere. He flexes and stretches his hand mechanically. His eyes roam over the room and his heart is pounding hard in his chest. He parts his lips, lost for words.

"You like it?" Tony asks, a tiny tinge of insecurity in the tone. How cute is that?

Bucky snorts. "If I like it..." he mutters, words stuck in his throat.

Tony is the one who introduced him to this world, although he wasn't very much more experienced in this particular domain than Bucky was. He did it for him. He's the one who noticed first and he's been encouraging him since then. Whether it was the first time he suggested Bucky blindfold him and tie his hand, or the first time he said he could hit him, or those times they went to the shop together and Tony bought him toys, or even when he took him to that very private club... 

But building a fucking dungeon in his own house for him is taking things far more further. If that isn't some commitment then what is it? Not that Bucky's complaining.

He isn't sure what Tony gets from it. He knows for certain Tony's never been in that kind of relationship before and even though, at times, the man experienced a thing or two, it was never something he did on regular basis, nor something he particularly needed or even enjoyed. 

Bucky knows this. He knows Tony doesn't get off on pain and yet he lets him beat him, lets him play with him the way he wants, never stopped him as things escalated pretty quickly once he started. Maybe he just wants to be hurt... 

Maybe that's it. Maybe that's exactly what he wants. To be hurt. To be punished. 

There are times when Bucky wishes they would be in a real relationship. It wasn't what he sought at first. _Hell,_ he hadn't even admitted to himself he was gay then, he certainly didn't wish for anything serious. Now, he wants to smack himself on the head for being so stupid because despite what it looks like, despite what he wishes in the deepest part of himself, there's nothing meaningful between them.

He lets his fingers skim the high quality leather and brand new shiny metal. There is a sling in the middle of the room and all sorts of crazy things on the walls. A huge collection of toys, even some Bucky knows for a fact Tony hates.

He feels dizzy with want. He pushes the older man against the sling and grabs his neck, pulling him in forcefully for a brutal kiss. Then he slaps him hard on the face, Tony gasps. His head yanks on the side but he quickly turns it back to face Bucky. When their eyes meet Tony's are hazy and he's biting his bottom lip hard. Maybe he's come to enjoyed it after all. After all, Bucky managed to lead him to that place once or twice. It scared the shit out of him the first time, neither of them knew what was happening, not really, but since then he did some research and taught himself a few tricks. 

Tony's smiling and panting and for a moment, Bucky is obsessed with the rising and falling of his chest and watches the movements the chain makes underneath the light fabric of his shirt. He feels a tremor of rage run through his arm and grabs his neck, clamping it hard between his fingers and his thumb, hard enough to bruise. It's not his neck he's squeezing but his jaw because choking is too dangerous a game and with his tendencies, Bucky isn't sure he'd be able to stop. 

Tony gasps and Bucky starts fumbling with his shirt but loses patience pretty soon. Unbuttoning with one hand can be tricky. 

"Can I tear it off?" He rasps.

Tony chuckles in response, biting on his tongue. He's getting hot, his face red. Bucky understands then this is exactly what Tony had planned for him. He yanks on the lapel of his shirt while Tony holds the other side, it gives way easily, revealing the glistening, hairless chest of the other man. 

Bucky's heart starts racing. He swallows at the beautiful sight. It's not every day he gets to see Tony's shaved chest.

"I wanna tie you up on that thing and fist you with my prosthetics," he mutters hoarsely, without thinking.

The look of surprise on Tony's face is priceless, edging on fear. Bucky feels ecstatic, bolts of electricity run through him at the uncertainty in his eyes. It gets him going so hard. He grins.

Tony licks his lips, expression worried but still wanton. "That thing," he answers, "won't get anywhere near my ass."

Bucky pouts disappointedly but doesn't lose hope. He hopes if he insists hard enough, sooner or later, Tony will give in.

"Too bad..." he regrets. "I'll start with my cock then."

"That's the idea." Tony retorts with a teasing smile. 

Bucky slaps him again, for the sake of it. And because doing it gives him a high. "You talk too much, I'm'anna gag you."

He does. Then turns him around and pushes him down on the sling, face down. "Stay here." Tony obeys and doesn't move an inch.

Bucky picks up a flogger.

He strikes. Hard. The sling moves with Tony's weight on it. Tony's cry is muffled by the gag. Bucky strikes again and again and then he pulls down Tony's pants.

He stares bewilderedly. The sight so beautiful, he can't breathe for a few seconds. Tony plugged himself and his ass is all shiny. He should have known that slut would have come prepared. Seeing him like this gives Bucky an adrenaline rush, his head is spinning. It's gonna be hard for him to stay in control.

Not to be boring but Bucky already lost it once, went on a fugue and was so caught up into it that he started ignoring Tony's limits. He _needs_ to be cautious.

Which is why he flogs him bare-assed one last time and enjoys the red marks on his skin while they last, trailing his fingers along them softly, before pulling the plug away and having Tony turn on his back. He ties up his hands and his feet to the sling, reveling in the fact that Tony set up a system that can easily be done and undone with one hand, and places himself between his spread legs.

He doesn't last long.

One hand on Tony's waist and he pushes into him, buried to the hilt in one go. Tony was already slicked and open.

Suddenly his cock in Tony's ass is all that matters and he pounds into him like a madman, dazed and euphoric. His mind elsewhere. He sinks his nails into his skin until the other man bleeds and he hears him cry underneath the gag but keeps fucking as hard as he can until he's got no more strength in his body. He can feel his sweat dripping down his forehead and sees it land on Tony's abs. Tony is sweating too and slick and glinting beautifully in the dim light. It's raunchy and filthy and Bucky loves it.

He's so fucking _deep_ inside of him now. Tony's clenching and unclenching around him, hot and shivery, sending spikes of pleasure and jolts of electricity down his spine. For a top, he certainly knows how to use his ass. Fucking bitch!

The slut deserves to be fucking punished for making Bucky feel this way. He takes the flog again and hits hard across his chest. Tony jerks and spasms and shivers. His nipples are hard with pain. It reverberates down in Bucky's balls. He feels so fucking hot. He strikes again. Tony's clenching his fist, sweat is dripping down his temples. He loses it and comes. 

It takes him a while to come around. He's still catching his breath when he realizes he's standing in front of Tony who's still tied up and gagged and hasn't come yet. His heart starts racing, pounding hard in his chest. The light bright and blinding, he wavers on his feet, head spinning. 

He's somewhere else and feels the tears swell up. He drops to the floor, head buried in his hand. He can vaguely hear Tony protest in the distance but spaces out. Tony screams again, tries to anyway. 

_Shit! Tony!_

He jerks up on his feet and rushes to him to remove the gag. He probably looks appalled if the way Tony's staring at him right now is any indication, he freaks out.

"Jesus, Barnes, can you untie me first, at least?"

He does so, with a trembling hand, and then collapses on the floor and falls apart.

He's shitty at this game and he knows it. Partly because of his physical condition, partly because he's too fucking emotionally involved in this and Tony scares the shit out of him. He can't believe he's letting Tony taking care of him right now. Now, of all times. How can Tony put up with him?

Tony put on a bathrobe and lays a fluffy blanket around him while he's a crying mess on his floor. He hands him a glass of water. Bucky can't help staring up at the perfect lines of his toned legs. Tony squats next to him and wraps his arms around him, leaning against his back, nuzzling against the nape of his neck.

"It's okay, baby," he whispers soothingly. "You're overwhelmed, I get it. That was too much for you for one night." He runs a hand in his hair. "We'll take it slower, I promise." His breath already smells of alcohol.

He stays like this until the tears stop and then stands up and Bucky notices the drink in his hand. He feels guilty. Tony's dick is still half-hard.

"Let me suck you off, at least," he almost begs. 

Tony chuckles and it almost sounds bitter. He shakes his head. "Sorry pal," he mutters, "I get that it might be _your_ thing but really, a teary and snotty guy is kind of a turn off for me."

Bucky can't help but smile. Tony smiles back, he's not resentful.

"You're hungry?"

"Starving," he admits.

That night Bucky makes sweet love to Tony, like they rarely do. He thrusts inside him slow and gentle for what feels like hours, their bodies rocking and undulating in synchrony. Spooning him from behind, his hand clutching his waist, he nibbles at his neck. Tony whimpers and groans. He comes the second Bucky touches his cock.

Bucky lets his lips wander and trail down his shoulder blade. His hand slides up along his chest, pressing Tony against him. He plants a kiss behind his ear.

Tony hums contentedly.

"I've got something for you," he says unimportantly. 

Bucky ignores him and keeps fondling him with kisses. Tony stretches his arm and fumbles inside his bedside table. He picks up something and turns around, throwing a little boy at him.

Bucky's heart skips a beat. He stares at him questioningly. 

"Open it." 

He does. Inside there's a key. His heart races.

"A key?" He exclaims. "How very twentieth century of you!"

Tony smiles, he's sitting up and leaning relaxedly against the wall, one leg bent, the other stretched out. "I know, I'm romantic like that."

"I didn't know your house needed an actual _key."_

"Well, among other things," Tony answers enigmatically, "I had a little reprogramming to do but basically yes, it opens with a key."

Bucky stares at the little thing in his hand bewilderedly, as if he was just handed the moon. He hears Tony fumble again and swallow. When he glances up he's got a flask in his right hand.

His goofy smile fades from his lips. "Why?" He mutters past the lump in his throat.

Tony snorts and smiles softly. "I want you to have it," he explains, rather matter-of-factly in fact, "so you can come whenever you want and enjoy the house when I'm not there."

Bucky feels a little dizzy. 

"Thank you, Tony."

"Well it's not exactly selfless," the older man replies, his eyes are already veiled. "I do hope you'll take on the offer and have your way with my body."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why am I even writing things like this? This isn't even something I'm into in the first place... :c


	5. Clint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... Don't read this. Or, you've been warned.

Tony's been living with a bunch of military boys. 

It's... _Weird._ Invasive. Noisy.

It's giving him a headache. Most of the time.

Most of the time, he wants to throw them out but then one of them says or does something silly that makes him laugh and suddenly he can't muster up the courage to fucking _say_ anything. Additionally, the self-indulging rule he suddenly came up with two nights previous kind of does it for him. 

He means, yeah, he knows they're very straight, possibly half his age, slightly homophobic and most of the time, just annoying pricks. Still, you can't blame him for enjoying the view, right?

The sun is hard today and he feels his skin burn. Heat and booze, a nice combo. Tony sips on his cocktail and puts it back on the white metal table next to his deckchair, feeling his head spin rightly so. He savors the sweet burning taste of alcohol on the tip of his tongue and the lingering burn down in his throat. It's not only his skin or his throat that are burning. His cock jolts at the feeling of sweat trickling down his chest. Ketamine. That's what he needs right now, he's thinking too much.

EDM is blaring nonstop from the outdoor speakers. It's not like he doesn't like it but why can't those people just enjoy some good old-time classic hard rock once in a while?

Ignoramuses. 

The thumping beat of the music resonates with the rhythm of his heart. Bodies are undulating against the light. The sunlight reverberates on the water of the pool, its rays radiant, creating a halo of light around them. It's such a splendid day for a fuck, he thinks. Tony feels like fucking.

The Mountain makes a cannonball. And splashes Tony's pool's water all over him. Fuck it, Blondie! Just warn a guy, alright? The cold drops of water prickle his skin, the contrast with his burning skin highlighting the sensations. Tony shivers. Frowny Face walks past him. The wet swimming shorts stick to his skin and mould his muscled, rounded ass, disappearing in the cleft. Chubby Chestnut cups his titty while he's laughing hard, throwing his head back, then lets his mindless hand drift away in the meanders of his abs. The kid is sprawled out nonchalantly on one of the deckchairs, sunglasses hiding his face, inconspicuously staring. He's like a picture of a younger himself, it's unsettling. Also, this is all enough for Tony to pop a boner. 

His eyes wander around the pool, searching for Jimmy. Ah, shit... He's talking with Frowny Face and Strawberry Blondie, again. Too many blonds in there. Never mind, Tony can take care of it himself, it's not like he's _that_ temperamental. It's just... He's got his eyes on fresh meat twenty four seven, young pretty things, half-naked most of the time, who never stop teasing him. He can't believe he's got this brand new fancy kinky room upstairs and hasn't had the chance to fuck—or get fucked, detail freaks—there since the whole accommodating horny military boys started. Although, he admits, he might have overdone it a little with the kinky room—that's what he does anyway, overdoing—he does feel a little regretful that Jimmy hasn't taken him there at least once. Instead, he's been all clingy and cuddly and annoying. Not that Tony particularly enjoys the things they do in that room, it's just... It seems like a shame, that's all, he thinks. 

It does find it hilarious the way Jimmy persists in not coming out to his ex army buddies though, even if it's a little sad, all in all. Because, honestly, they all know what the two of them do at night behind his bedroom's door, so... but whatever, he's not gonna complain about it.

Especially not when this is the very reason he picked up a frustrated closeted kid with highly repressed sexual feelings and controlling issues. So he wouldn't have to bother with commitment or cuddling or bullshits like that and could indulge in their visceral need to dominate and sadistic tendencies and let them take out their anger and frustration on him.

Fuck yeah, Tony _needs_ this right now. He thinks too much. Might be even better than Ketamine... Maybe a little spanking, for starters? Something soft to take the edge off and put his mind at ease.

He'll make do with a good wank and a cold shower however. Since, no-one presently seems to care enough about his current state at the moment. He gets up, difficultly. Fuck, he's not getting any younger. Although, he can say without lying that he's proud of his look. Not quite so bad for a forty-something. And this skinny swimsuit does wonders to his ass, if not his actual boner. 

He staggers to the showers. Bless him for having asked for outside showers when he built up the plans for this house.

The skinny swimsuit is quickly discarded and the lukewarm water feels blissful on his skin, refreshing. He groans, the sound almost sinful and veering toward a moan of pleasure. He wonders if he does it on purpose or if he's naturally slutty like that. Probably both, he reckons, and also, it's extremely pathetic to be self-conscious like that. He blushes to his own idiocy.

It's only when the shower stops that he can feel it. The burning gaze. He feels it tickle, brush his skin like the touch of a feather that goes from the bottom of his nape and down the line of his spine, right to the crease between his asscheeks.

His boner is full-back on.

The eyes rake over him, silent and hungry. He can _feel_ them.

Tony runs a hand in his hair, aiming at sensual, but doesn't turn around, pretending he hasn't noticed. Honestly, he doesn't know how long this will last, he's on the verge of his death—his metaphorical death—the full bloom of his flower before it withers away. He knows he still has it, but for how long? Might as well enjoy this while he still can and offer the peeping tom a good show. It's a thing for sexually frustrated boys, he's heard, peeping in the showers, and Jimmy loves watching. 

Tony smiles to himself and splays his hands on his body, spreading lather all over himself, not without a bit of teasing in the process. He knows his game.

He hears someone snort. It doesn't sound like Jimmy.

His heart skips a beat. He turns around in a worried jerk. Another fucking blondie. Who's smirking at him, arms crossed against his chest, and leaning on the doorframe. He scrutinizes him with the precision of an hawk.

Tony turns off the water, picks up and a towel and starts wiping his face and then the rest of his body. "What do you want?"

"Came to pay my dues..."

He raises his eyebrows in confusion. The short towel efficiently drying the skin of his lower stomach but useless at hiding his modesty. "I beg your pardon?" 

"Heard that one must give you an orgasm to get to crash in this house. So this is it. Me paying my debts."

Have you seen it? Yes, yes it is. Very much it is. A gaping Tony Stark, mouth hanging low, eyes ready to pop out of his head and a bit of a blush creeping on his face as well, because he can't consciously remain indifferent when he hears a cute guy literally offer him an orgasm, can he? Also, he likes the idea of being offered an orgasm very much, despite his boner having faded a little at the unexpectedness and violation of his privacy. 

He feels slightly offended though, because... _what the fuck?_

When he regains composure he averts his eyes and pouts. He knows he looks rather haughty like that but doesn't care. "I don't pay for sex," he mutters, rolling half-lidded eyes. "Never do, never did, never intend to." For now anyway, who knows what will happens when he's decrepit and desperate, if he ever reaches that state one day. "No fucking me is required for staying here, rest assured. Now, scram! I'd like to finish off in my shower in peace, thanks."

Except that Strawberry Blond there just doesn't feel that way. He walks into the shower and props a very healthy, very abled left arm on the wall next to Tony's head and gives him a slap on the face with his right hand. Not enough to hurt, just enough to assert his dominance over him. And what is it with people getting their kick out of slapping him, he means, is it written on his face or what? _Slap me, I'm a pain whore_ —He isn't even one. He doesn't think he is anyway... He knows he used to be bratty but, come on, he's pretty sure he's grown out of it by now.

"Consider that I'm giving this one away for free, then."

His voice is low and hoarse and in control, his gaze piercing, pinning him against the tiled wall like a bird of prey ready to swoop and swallow him and it kind of pushes straight on Tony's right buttons. Tony didn't even know the existence of those said buttons, but apparently they do exist, if the way his heart starts racing and the surge of warmth spreading in his entire body to the tip of his toes is any indication.

Saying that the slap startled him in a huge understatement, to say the least. Tony gasps and lets his mouth hang open, lips parted. He's kind of out of words at the moment and stares back at the man confusedly. He feels like he can see through him, like he can see past his bravado, past the tall and strong manly outside to see the fragile little thing that Tony is inside. It's unnerving and frightening but there is a little part of him that just can't take his eyes away.

"What if I _want_ to give it to you? Actually, I'm gonna rip it out of you with my dick," Blond bird threatens. "But I'll let you choose where you want it."

Tony is very much not impressed, if a little terrified. He frowns. "You're straight."

Birdy snorts, the look in his eyes evil and proper psychotic. Jesus, are all those military men fucked up in the head? Or is it that Tony attracts all the weirdos? Second option definitely the most probable.

"I'm not like them kids. Fifteen years, I served. I've seen it all. Never looked at a man twice before but now you got me curious. The kid's been bragging about you, and all. I wanna see what it's like."

How romantic. If that isn't the worst pick up phrase ever. It's kind of refreshing, actually. Although Tony's kinda done being an experience. It lost its charm over the years and Tony's stop believing he could change people. Straight guys will always be straight. There's no point in trying. And this one looks properly fucked up in the worst of ways. Like he'll break him, like he _wants_ Tony to break because he represents everything he hates.

Tony crosses his arms. "Is it like those commercial offers?" He asks in false ingenuity. "You get the first one for free and then you're stuck with a two years subscription for a service you don't want?"

Birdy chuckles. "I like your cynicism, Stark." _Good to know..._ "But no, take the words of a soldier, it's more like a trial offer. Should the service satisfy you, you may then sign up for a contract. Goes both ways, by the way."

Tony doesn't have the time to think about the offer that the man's knuckles brush down his cheek softly, making him shiver at the unexpectedly gentle gesture. He grabs the wrists and pushes his hand away, glaring.

"Listen, um—"

"Clint," Birdy interjects curtly, sounding offended. "We've been living together for like three days and you can't even remember my name, what a genius are you?"

"It's not that I _can't_ remember," Tony retorts, "it's that I don't give a shit."

Birdy inches away, staring at him warily. He's smiling though.

"Look, _Clint,_ I'm flattered... but no thanks. I'm good."

Tony walks away, tries to, but he's pushed back against the wall and Birdy's firm and inescapable body surrounds him, pressing into him, but never touching. His two hands are on each side of Tony's head and in this particular position, Tony feels extremely vulnerable. And very naked. And also, incidentally, _hot_. "Not so fast, genius." 

Tony swallows and assesses his options quickly. Option one, he could probably push the guy away, he means, he's not actually helpless or disabled. And he's... well, he's actually _taller_ than this guy so, but... Option two, he could just say _no._ Perhaps the guy would leave him alone, then. He probably would, there's no reason he wouldn't, is there? Option three, he could scream, as glamorously as a damsel in distress. Surely the others would come to his rescue, right? One of them would, at least, he hopes. Anyway, option four, he could... Well, he could—he could just _go with the flow_ and let this guy have his way with him. Tony kinda likes the idea actually. At least some part of him seems very interested in pursuing that option. 

Especially now, when Birdy's got his hand pressed on his neck the right way and literally pins Tony to the tiled wall. Again, he's not forceful. He doesn't hurt. He masters each of his movements with an eerie precision. And Tony could get away from this, he just isn't sure he wants to right now. He gasps, averting his eyes. Birdy snaps his head back with a tug on his chin. "I like your eyes too," he whispers. "They've got this dull, lifeless glow in them, like you've been broken beyond repair. Also, they're pretty." He bites his lower lip and Tony gets hard, cock jolting on the left. The compliment is cute, clumsy but moving. It's been a while since Tony was called _pretty._ Decades, actually. Birdy looks down and enjoys the show with an evil smile plastered on his face. He chuckles. "And you," he rasps, "you like the sound of my voice, don't you?"

Well, Tony can hardly deny that, presently.

So yeah, he might enjoy this a tiny bit too much but that doesn't mean he should shag every Tom, Dick and Harry who start roughing him up a little.

"Tony fucking Stark..." Birdy whispers hoarsely, continuing his earnest monologue because Tony just can't speak right now. "I remember you from the train, you know?"

The _train?_ On his mother's head he'll swear no-one will ever see the likes of him on a fucking _train._ What are planes for?

Oh. Oh right, yeah, of course. He remembers now.

"You had class then." Birdy says and Tony just wants to laugh hard. "You were _fearless_ and confident. You looked so powerful. Look at you now, a trembling leaf in my hands."

Tony gasps again, he feels himself waver, already getting into the right headspace. What the fuck happened to him? He used to have more resolve than that.

Birdy leans into him and brings his lips to Tony's ear. His breath is warm and surprisingly heady. "I heard you like pain," he slurs and then adds, ominously, "I was special forces," he says like a threat. "Now, I am an MMA champion. I know fifty different ways to kill a man with my barehands." Tony feels a chill throughout his body. He swallows and his breath catches in his throat. He stops breathing, heart racing, and feels a bead of sweat trickling down his temple. The Hawk is scrutinizing again. "Does that scare you? Or does that turn you on?"

A little bit of both, if he were honest.

"I'm properly terrified right now," Tony chokes out.

Clint immediately lets go of him and steps back. "I'm sorry," he says. "I thought you were into this, I—I'm not about to force you into anything." Tony feels like smirking but his face is frozen. Wasn't that just too fucking cute? Birdy's losing confidence.

Tony shivers as he watches him walk away and—oh my god, he _likes_ him—and, like, the guy has the fucking nerve to turn him into a useless needy mess and then _walk away._

Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, Tony grabs his shaft and presses it hard. The feeling makes him gasp again. Clint's given him an out but doesn't he really want out of this? Apparently his cock doesn't. Maybe he doesn't either.

"Hey, Blondie!" Birdy abruptly turns around. A proud smirk on his face. Who's playing who now? Tony's lost. "I thought I heard you promise me an orgasm. Are you backing out now? Or are you, army guys, just talk?"

Tony's properly hard again, he starts stroking himself and the drops he feels trickling down his skin are not water. The heat is making his head spin.

Clint steps forward and Tony's heart races. He starts panting quickly. Birdy touches his crotch. "Where do you want it?" He rasps. Tony bites his lips and starts stroking himself more frantically, brushing one of his nipples with his other hand.

Tony hesitates. All the options seem quite tempting, actually.

As if guessing his hesitation, Birdy unbutton his jeans and shows off the goods. Tony gapes and then swallows. "In my ass," he finally chokes out and then he points a trembling finger at the monster. "I want _that_ in my ass." 

Birdy snorts. 

He's gonna break him. Tony's positive he's gonna break him, in every way. He hates straight guys. Straight guys are the worse. They always leave you with a bitter taste in the mouth, they guilt-trip you and make you feel dirty afterwards. Tony swore he was done with straight guys. Look at him now...

Clint yanks him against the wall. Tony's back hit the tiles with a loud thump and he grunts in pain. He stumbled in the process and lost balance. His hand is no longer on his cock. Birdy slaps him again, snapping him out of his daze. Yeah, it's definitely written on his face.

The next time he touches him it's to turn him over on his stomach and press his face into the tiles. Tony already regrets his stupid decision. The guy is gonna tear him apart. He's grabbed both his hands and holds his two wrists behind his back, pushing him against the wall. For a moment, Tony thinks he's gonna fuck him like this and sees his whole life flash before his eyes, but no, Birdy knows how to use his monster cock and how to prepare its intrusion. When he pushes inside Tony, it fits like Tony's ass was made for this guy. 

And the condom? Well, what does that word even mean? Tony's infamous for being promiscuous and unsafe anyway so... And at this point, he's not in a position to say anything either. And frankly, it's a miracle he's lived to this day without catching anything serious, already. He must have a lucky star. He might as well shut up and take it. And aaaah, it feels so good already, what was he even saying just now? He's already forgotten...

Birdy dropped his hands and it's a good thing because he can now use them as buffers between him and the wall, because fuck, aaaah, yeah, the man's got a mean thrust and pounds into him like he wants to punch his teeth out from the inside, which, well, kind of feels really hot, to be completely honest. Tony's currently being utterly and properly wrecked and obviously getting way more than he bargained for but, hey, isn't that the story of his life, really?

His face pressed into the tiles, his hips clamped in an unbreakable grip, Tony is a panting and moaning mess. Sweat is dripping down his spine and Birdy starts licking it up and fuck it feels so fucking good, Tony shivers from head to toe and loses his mind. He's gonna break him. He's already breaking him. His fingers fiddle with Tony's chain, the one he doesn't let anyone fiddle with. 

"Initials..." he says pensively. Tony may or may not have answered, it's not like he owes the guy an answer. In any case, it sounded like an ugly moan. "Your kids?"

Birdy slows down and snorts. Now, he thrusts into him deep and slow, clutching his waist hard with both hands. "Fuck you." Tony spits. He can feel his chain sliding around the man's tongue, it falls on his back, wet and cold, when Birdy decides to sink his teeth into his skin. Fuck. Yeah. "Aaaah."

Smooth, also, worst timing ever. The guy really fucking knows his shit. And aaaah, he's properly wrecking his insides.

Clint snorts again. "I have kids too, you know? Four, actually. Three boys, one girl. The oldest is ten. Youngest four. Haven't seen them grow, never really got to play with them, even when I was home. And now they live with their mother. I guess they hate my guts. She does too. I'm a shitty dad but... I _love_ them. I truly do."

"Clint?" Tony interrupts, because, yeah, it needs to be said. "I don't give a shit." He really doesn't. "Hearing about your kids is about the last thing I wanna do right now, so please shut up."

"I'm not telling you this because I wanna speak about my kids," Birdy replies. "I'm telling you, because I want you to know who I am. I want you to remember my name." _Jesus,_ he got it, okay? He remembers now, fuck! "I want you to remember me _fucking_ you every time you touch your chain. And Every time you come to shower here, I want you to remember how I wrecked you. You hear me, Stark?" Message received. Loud and clear and fuck, this feels so good.

He thinks he _keened._

The guy is the worst. Jimmy likes to use him as a punching ball, he enjoys the thrill and the noise he draws out of him and the marks he makes but _this_ guy, this guy likes to play mind games. He wants to _own_ him before the kill. Tony was wrong, he's not an hawk he's a leopard, playing with his prey, exhausting it to death before eating it. And for some unexplainable reasons, Tony finds that extremely hot. He feels euphoric, on the verge of ecstasy. His mind goes blank and he's just about to come anyway. Birdy's thrusting hard into him and faster and his fingers dig into his skin, hurting to the point he sees stars. Then, he slows down and jerks and starts spurting inside of him, groaning behind him while he keeps fucking inside of him through the aftershocks of his orgasm. How disappointing... Tony hasn't even come and by the looks of it, it's not gonna happen anytime soon.

He grabs his own cock resignedly. Birdy bites him and licks over his teeth mark. Tony gasps and shivers.

"I wanna piss inside of you," Clint blurts out nonchalantly. Such sweet and melodious words, so gentle and beautiful in Tony's ear. And, oh. Aah. Fuck.

Aaaand he's coming.

Wait, has he actually _lost consciousness_ for a split-second?

What did he say already? That he wouldn't come anytime soon? God, does Tony love being wrong! That was literally the _hottest_ thing Tony's ever been told during sex. Thank god it was just talk, though. Tony will, at least, wait for a couple of days before he lets that happen.

He pants heavily, exhaustion quickly catching up to him, like everything else. He drops on all four. He thinks Clint has cushioned his fall, he's not sure though. He's not completely in tune with his body right now. He feels his hand stroke down his back, along his spine. Then, he feels gentle fingers tangled in his hair.

"Not bad," Birdy says. His voice is surprisingly gentle now. It makes him feel uncomfortable. The heart-clenching kind of uncomfortable. "I won't mind signing up for a second time, after all. If you're up for it."

Did Tony keen again? Whatever it was it sounded ugly.

Clint snorts and plants a kiss right behind his ear. "Your eyes are really pretty, you know? Your mouth is pretty too." His fingers are brushing his lips as he says so.

Tony growls. "Get out!"

As much as the high was fast and blissful and intense, the drop is just as fast and intense, and _painful._ Tony curls up on himself. He might need another shower, perhaps.

He doesn't know how long he stays in the showers, pathetically sat down on the floor, heads on his knees, but at some point he feels a presence and raises his eyes. There's a silhouette against the light, one hand leaning against the doorframe. An incomplete silhouette. 

"Are you okay, Tony?" Jimmy asks. His voice may or may not sound concerned. 

Tony blinks at him. Trying to understand what he's asking. "No," he blurts after a moment. "No I'm not, actually. I'm fucking _not."_

Jimmy crouches down next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder. He looks at him with puppy eyes. "What's wrong?"

 _"This._ This whole shit. This is _fucking_ shitty." He says. Honestly he doesn't even know for sure what it is that feels wrong. "I can't stand the noise anymore and the heat, it's making me dizzy. I... " Jimmy runs a soothing hand into his hair. Tony unconsciously leans into the touch.

"Hey," the brunet says softly. "Do you want me to tell the guys to leave? Or we could, you know, get away, do something just the two of us, I—"

"I just had sex with Birdy."

Jimmy lets out a startled noise. "You had _what?_ With _who?"_

"Sex. With Birdy," Tony repeats. "I mean, _Clint."_

There's something weird in the way Jimmy's eyes blink. "You had sex with _Clint?"_ He suddenly exclaims, sounding almost panicky and breathless. _"When?"_

Tony shrugs. "Now."

Jimmy sucks in a shuddering breath. One that sounds painful. "Why would you have sex with Clint?" He chokes. "And most of all, why would _Clint_ have sex with you? He's straight."

He shrugs again. "Don't know. Ask him..." The hand on his shoulder is clenching hurtingly. Tony flickers his eyes up and meets the fire in Jimmy's grey-blue eyes. He stares for moment, the silence heavy between them. "Are you angry Jimmy Barnes?"

He laughs. "If I'm angry? Wow! You know what Tony? Fuck you!" He _sounds_ angry though. "So what? I stop being all over you for five fucking minutes and you scurry off to have sex with Clint? Are you really that self-obsessed? Like, what? Were you trying to make me jealous or something? 

"No, what do you think I am, twelve? Fuck off!"

 _"You_ fuck off!"

"Hey, if you didn't want me to shag your very horny friends when I'm getting none then you should have said so. It's not like we promised each other anything, okay? If this is how it's gonna be then I'd rather we end this now."

Something forlorn flashes through Jimmy's eyes.

His hand is on Tony's neck now. "Let's go there now. You're gonna get on all four and you're gonna take it until you bleed."

Tony stares up into his eyes for a moment. He swallows. "I don't think this is a good idea," he finally says in a raspy, broken voice.

"Well, you're not allowed to _think_ right now, so I don't care what you say."

"No," Tony insists. "I don't wanna go there with you when you're like this."

There, again, the sad guilty glimmer in his eyes. Tony feels like an asshole. He didn't ask for this, for fuck's sake. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. They weren't supposed to _do_ this. 


	6. Chapter 6

There's nothing better than a good old vintage whisky on the rocks and a joint to fuck with your thoughts the right way, Clint thinks. He feels lightheaded and blissful. Through the French doors, he watches the others dive into the pool, or sunbathe, shirtless as the owner required. Clint doesn't respect the stupid rule, because it's stupid, for one, and because there's nothing to see anyway, nothing for him to show off. He's not built like the others are and, contrarily to some people here, not so keen on showing off the scars of his wasted life.

He stays inside, leaning against the bar, glass in hand, the smoke of his joint surrounding him like a protective halo. It doesn't last long however, soon his peace is disturbed by a gloomy presence.

Clint raises his eyes and turns his head toward the door behind him. Pretty Barnes's leaning against the door frame, blue eyes looking at him heinously, not quite knowing what to do with his lonely arm which, de facto, dangles against his side. His hair is tied in a loose ponytail. He's wearing black shorts and a white wife-beater, which is sort of appropriate, Clint thinks. The thing sticks tightly to his chest and Clint notices for the first time how hot his friend is. Not that he didn't see before, he saw the pictures, just... this the first time that he _notices._

Bucky's glaring. Clint snorts. He takes a sip of his whisky, enjoys the burn in his throat, and decides to speak first, since Bucky's apparently not willing to speak his mind yet.

"You're scowling," he says with a lazy smile—that's the joint, he's not amused. Or, perhaps, he is?—and swallows another sip of his drink.

Bucky strides towards him. He's lanky, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth. It feels weird, Clint thinks, the tension between them right now. They've grown so close in the last two years, like two peas in a pod, almost inseparable. Bucky losing his arm and his second family, Clint losing his hearing, his job and his wife too because who the fuck wants a fucked-up, useless, disabled husband, good for nothing but killing, roaming around aimlessly from the couch to the kitchen, to the bathroom and then back on the couch twenty four seven. Not Laura apparently. Probably no-one.

Despite the age difference they used to relate to each other but, right now, Clint has never felt so distant from him.

"You've had sex with Tony," he snarls. It's not a question. "There's not point in denying, he told me."

Clint shrugs. "I wasn't going to."

 _"What the fuck?"_ Barnes yells. He's red with repressed rage.

He snorts. "Scared that I'm gonna steal your sugar daddy?"

Bucky ignores the joke. "Why?" He asks instead, his voice sounds raspy and hurt.

Clint shrugs again. "Don't know." Because he honestly doesn't. Not really. If he were to rationalize this he couldn't. "'Cause I wanted to. 'Cause I don't like being in debt and thought we could split the bill or something. I was... _intrigued,_ I guess. And there's no reason you should do all the work and sacrifice yourself for our sake, is there?" The brunet looks properly shocked, Clint's unsettled. "I mean, maybe I've been misinterpreted things between the two of you...? I'm sorry if I have, I mean, are you guys, like, a _thing_ or something?"

He doesn't know if it's appropriate to feel the way he feels right now but Clint's very much amused. Especially at the look of outrage on his friend's pretty face. He's gaping.

"Are you implying that I'm a _whore?"_

Well, 'whore' wasn't really the term he had in mind. It's was more like _gay for pay_ but his tone is indifferent when he asks, raising an uninterested eyebrow. "Aren't you?"

"No." 

"So what then... You _queer?"_

Bucky is quick to deny it. _"No!"_ He protests loudly. 

Clint looks at him dubiously and crosses his arms. "It's okay if you are, though," he mutters. "Like I really don't give a shit if you are if that's what you're worried about."

Hateful blue eyes glare at him. The guy's nostrils are flaring. He's clenching his jaw and Clint's gaze lingers on the way it twitches with anger. "I'm not a fucking _queer!"_

Whatever, if he insists. After all, who's Clint to judge. He shrugs again. 

"'kay. So what is this about then? You like him or something? I don't get it. I mean, there's really no need to get your panties in a twist, I'm really not interested." Bucky's eyes shoot wide open. He parts his lips, expression indecipherable. "About the money part, I mean," he adds, grin spreading on his face at the thought. "About the sex part, though..."

Bucky swallows back his words. He stares at him, stunned. "You're _straight."_ He says after a moment of confused silence, almost as an accusation and as if it was enough of a reason to explain why Clint shouldn't want the sex part.

Clint shrugs. "So are you, and yet you've been getting it for months, from what I see... so I'm not sure I see your point."

There's a tremor in Bucky's arm. He shivers and starts breathing heavily, jaw clenched with all his strength. 

"Look," Clint starts, "I'll be honest. You say I'm straight but I don't think I am. I mean I've just had sex with a guy and I've been enjoying myself way too much for me not to be a little gay. My cursor's definitely further on the spectrum. So I don't know about you, but I actually _liked_ the sex part and I do intend to get a repeat if I can. But if you like him, man, I'll back off, okay? I don't wanna ruin out friendship over some guy. I mean, do _you_ like him?"

Bucky's speechless. Clint's grin spreads. Again, the joint. He's had no part in it.

"Yeah, you do." He answers himself, there's a bit of gentle teasing in his voice. "You _like_ him!" To be honest, he's actually happy for him. Bucky needs a fucking break. He deserves it. But Stark, man, Stark is a _tornado._ Fire and wind combined _._ A very own disaster, in himself. Stark's not a guy that you _like._ He's gonna eat the poor guy alive. "Look, I don't want to be mean or anything. And you've known me for always speaking my mind but... If what you guys have is actually a _thing,_ it looks like a pretty fucked up thing, then. Sorry. I get why you like him though. He's very... _likable,_ but I feel like I should warn you. Stark's the real deal, man. He's got more issues than you and I combined. Not to say he's twice your age and far more experienced than you'll ever be. So be careful kid, 'cause he's gonna break your heart."

Bucky swallows and stares in Clint's eyes with an angry expression. His eyes are misty. "I don't give a shit about him," he whispers through his teeth. "Do what you like." And then he storms off.

Clint snorts and watches him walk away. He takes a sip of his drink. "Cool," he says while lifting his glass in his direction. "Nice talking with you, Buck."

Truth is, he's never been that excited about something in _years._

* * *

When he walks down the stairs, heading for the kitchen, he knows there's someone in there. He pushes the door softly and hears a gasp and a loud scattering noise. He snorts while he sees the panicky shape of the owner of this house.

Stark stares, dumbfounded, at the remains of the broken glass scattered in the sink. Clint thinks he's cute. Then, he glares at Clint. "What the fuck?"

Clint laughs. "You're not the only one who's got trouble sleeping. If you want some peace and quiet during the night, you shouldn't invite over people who've been at war."

" _I_ didn't invite anyone."

Clint startles. He hadn't really seen things from that angle but yeah, now that's he's saying it... "I guess, you didn't," he mutters and then paces to him. He splays his hand on the man's shoulder, without thinking. The guy freezes and sucks in a sharp breath. Clint pulls his hand back right away. "Sorry man, I didn't mean to scare you, I was just gonna help you clean this shit up."

Stark turns his head to him in a jerk and stares into his eyes. His are shifty, fixed on him but somewhere else at the same time, like two melancholic pools, infinitely light and eerie. His lips part but he remains silent. Clint is a little bit dazzled at the moment, he admits.

"There's no need," Stark replies, eyes swirling like waves, deeply staring into Clint's eyes. "Staff will be here in the morning. They'll do it."

Clint snorts but it sounds a little sour. He hasn't had for a habit to let others clean his own shit. He steps away and Stark's gaze flickers alive again. He averts his eyes. "Right, cool. I'm gonna get going then. Bye."

Clint lets out a bitter chuckle. "Hey, weren't you gonna make yourself some coffee? I could do with a cup of coffee too, actually."

”I’m good. Help yourself, though.” And like a cat he disappears into the night. That was without taking into account Clint's ingrained reflexes.

”Wait!” Clint calls out and grabs his wrist, instinctively, needing the reassuring contact. Stark freezes again, imperceptibly, and frowns at his own wrist, then he glares up at him. "If you want me to go, then I’ll go." Clint whispers.

Stark looks at him with dumbstruck eyes. He shrugs. ”I don’t care if you stay.”

”I'm not gonna chase you away from your own house, Stark," he says in an embarrassed chuckle. "I won't impose where I’m not wanted.” He's very serious though. Clint can make himself small. He can sleep on the doormat, whatever, but he's not gonna beg for a bed. If he's not wanted, he'll leave.

"You're not," the brunet replies, "imposing, I mean." He tries to pull his hand away but Clint doesn't let go. He can't. There is a glassy glimmer in the light-blue of Stark's eyes. Clint feels his heart skip a beat.

”You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” He chokes out.

Stark doesn’t answer. He just parts his lips and lets out a soft breathless sigh. Some semblance of life twinkles in his eyes. He looks sad. He stares at his wrist again and then back at Clint.

Then, it occurs to him. Stark isn't particularly scared of him. He's just scared, period. Of everything and everyone. All the time. He never feels safe. Even in his own house, he doesn't feel safe. He's always on the defensive. Always waiting for the blow. How exhausting it must be, to be so terrified all the time. How lonely... Clint knows about loneliness too, and about survival.

"You think I wouldn't notice?" He asks. ”I know fear, man. I’ve known it my whole fucking life! I've lived with it, day and night..." Stark sucks in a shuddering breath. "It’s alright though, I mean, everyone is, and rightfully so 'cause I’m proper messed up. Only wackos like Buck and this crazy lot, ain’t scared of me." 

Stark’s eyes flicker. He's finally stopped pulling away and relaxes in his grip. Clint lets go of him and he doesn't run away. Instead, he stares at him like he's some good samaritan who's made it his mission to help out all the fucked-ups. 

"It’s just," Clint continues, "it’s the first time that I meet someone who’s actually turned on by it.” 

Stark looks utterly unimpressed. He crosses his arms and pouts and it's kinda cute. How Clint can feel emotional while watching a forty-something guy pout is another story, though.

"I mean, unless I'm wrong and you're not turned on by it and I messed up hard by assuming so?" Stark grits his teeth. "Maybe we should talk..." Clint concludes. "How about I make that coffee?"

He doesn't wait for Stark's answer to head for the coffee machine and makes two cups. The older man hasn't skedaddled, yet. He's staring into space and takes the cup handed to him without thinking. When his fingers curl around the burning earthenware, his eyes shoot open. His hand shakes and he runs towards the cupboard to upgrade his coffee with something stronger. Clint looks at the time, it's past four already but he does understand the need to numb your mind. Stark's mind seems to run non-stop on a high speed, so he gets it. He's not one to judge.

"Nightmare?" He asks.

Stark shrugs. "Haven't gone to bed, yet."

Clint chuckles, imagining already what could have held him up so late. The pictures running nicely in his head.

"I think I owe you an apology."

"What for?"

"I don't know, coming on to you so strongly. Slapping you in the face and so on... Like, in my defense, I truly thought you were into this stuff. I mean, the kid talk, alright? I... It's been—it's been so fucking _long_ since I—" Stark stares at him from the corner of his eyes, not interested in the slightest in what's saying. Clint stammers. "Got married at twenty. Been serving all this time. It's not like I know what I'm doin—"

Stark throws him a stern haughty look. "Look, _Clint—"_

Clint laughs. "So you remember..."

Stark snorts and his smile is mischievous. "I never forget a name," he replies, teasingly. His eyes are gleaming and Clint feels his heart leap. He stares at him, at the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and the dark shadows under them. He looks at his cheeks, hollowed out and stubbly and the unkept goatee on his chin. He looks at the small curl behind his ear and the way his hair is scruffy and a little sweaty. He looks so tired and weary and so vulnerable Clint feels like being protective. "Anyway," Stark continues, "my point is, I don't fucking care about your sob story or your issues or whatever... So we fucked and what? It's not like it's a big deal."

He stands up and goes to the cupboard again, filling his cup, no coffee this time. Clint's eyes follow his catlike movements, filled with hope. He doesn't know how he should take this but he'll concede that he has a point. That was exactly what he's been thinking in the first place. He's glad they agree on this.

"Also," Stark adds, "I can fight my own battles, thanks." He gulps down his drink and takes a metal box from the cupboard. The one with rolled up joints in it. He looks at Clint and nods suggestively before lighting it. Clint nods back and watches the way the joint lands on his lips, the way he closes his eyes and rolls them open when he inhales the first drag, the way his lips curl into a cute O when he exhales, the way the smoke dances around him and makes him a silhouette in the dark. Stark is leaning against the counter, legs crossed at the ankle, one hand propped on the work surface, next to the empty cup. The other one holds the burning fag.

"Not a big deal, no," Clint repeats, "but I did enjoy myself a lot back there, so I wouldn't mind a repeat of that is what I mean. I wouldn't mind at all."

Stark's eyes flicker with interest. His gaze rakes over him, heated and hazy. He smiles lazily. "I bet you do," he says seductively. His eyes are veiled now and half-lidded. "What's in it for me?" He slurs as he spews the smoke in his direction.

"Don't misunderstand my intentions, Stark," Clint replies honestly, "Contrary to the others, I gotta get back to work on Monday and then I'm gone, out of your life, for good. So I'm only offering you that. And nothing else."

As he says so, he slides down from his stool and joins the older man by the counter. He cages him against the work surface. Stark inches back, averts his eyes. Clint takes the joint from his hand and it just slips from his fingers as if he didn't have enough strength in him to hold it any longer. The proximity is unnerving and Stark starts breathing heavily, his firm chest rising and falling faster. He's avoiding Clint's gaze but doesn't give any sign of rejection either. His eyes are wanton. Clint brings the joint to his lips and takes a drag. His hands drop on each side of the other man's waist as he exhales. Stark gasps and inches back a little more. 

Clint snorts and drops his head in the crook of his shoulder. "You gotta help me out a little here," he whispers hoarsely. "'cause I'm really getting mixed signals from you, right now." Stark sucks in a sharp breath. Clint brushes his hands along his sides. "I'm not a fucking genius, I'm actually dumb as shit. Good for nothing but following orders. So, you gotta tell me straight. Is that a yes? Or is that a no?" 

Stark leans against him and nuzzles against his temple like a feline. He hums softly. Clint's body's suddenly on fire. "Good," he answers elusively, "because I don't intend to have long metaphysical conversations with you."

Clint raises his head and steps back. He bursts out laughing, throwing his head back. His left hand is still lazily laid on Tony's hip, he uses the right one to take another drag from the joint before it dies down.

Stark's smile is lazy. The light blue skies in his eyes all cloudy. "I'm not into that stuff," he says. "Like, I don't fancy being slapped on or—or peed inside, or whatever you assumed I was into."

Clint chuckles, remembering that particularly intense moment between them. He remembers mostly how the man's lean body undulated and spasmed in his hands when he said it. He remembers the breathless cries of pleasure he made when he came on his dick. And shit, he's half-hard now. He drops his head on Stark's shoulder again, taking a deep breath of his smell and realizing it's heady and addictive. He laughs softly. "I wasn't gonna do it, you know?" He admits. "That was a spur of the moment thing, sorry."

He tangles his fingers in the man's loose shirt and clumsily presses his fingers into his flesh, losing balance. Stark gasps. It sounds painful.

Clint immediately removes his hand and steps back, he slips his fingers underneath the man's shirt and brushes the skin softly. He lifts the fabric slowly. "Fuck, Stark!" He exclaims, as he sees. "He really didn't go easy on you, did he? Is that what you've been up to until four in the morning?"

Stark snorts. He's smirking. He inches back, leaning against the counter and clutching the edge like it's been somehow offensive. He bites his lips and flicks his tongue over them. "Maybe," he rasps. Eyes intense on him, shining with their hazy glow.

"Tony Fucking Stark... I thought you weren't into this stuff."

"I'm not," the man replies. His smile is amused. 

"Then why do you let him do this to you?" 

He chuckles. "Because he's cute." He _is,_ though. "I like him," he adds in a soft whisper, more to himself than to Clint. 

Clint snorts. He runs his hand along his flank, brushing his fingers softly on the marks left on his body. Stark shivers. "That's fucked up," Clint says.

"Well," Stark answers, voice hoarse and rasping, "like you said, I'm broken and beyond repair." 

Clint leans into him and buries his head into the crook of his neck. He plants his lips there, on his musky salty skin. "I guess that's alright," he confesses. "'Cause I'm fucked up too." 

With his right hand he cups the man's face, curling his fingers around his neck. He left hand is splayed on his stomach and he runs it up over the fabric. His lips are brushing his jawline, chafed by the man's stubble. The sensation sharp. "Can I kiss you?" He asks absent-mindedly. "I wanna kiss you."

"I don't kiss one-night-stands." is the reply.

"How about two-nights-stands?" Clint tries.

Stark smirks. "We shall see, Birdy."

Clint laughs and pushes his forehead against him. "Why do you call me _Birdy?"_

"It's your eyes." Stark replies pensively. "Hungry and piercing, like you can see through me. You're kinda looking at me like at a prey, ready to swoop down and break my neck."

Clint chuckles against him, chest shaking softly with laugh. "I won't break your neck." He whispers against his ear. Suddenly, Stark's fixing the wall behind him, a puppet in his hands. A warm and firm puppet. He's silent.

Clint tugs on his chin, brushing his thumb across his cheek. "Hey, baby. Come back to me." 

Stark's still silent and lifeless. 

"Tony?" Clint inquires. "Are you alright?"

Stark's eyes flicker back to life. "What?"

Clint shakes his head slowly. "You were gone, man."

Stark plunges his eerily blue eyes into Clint's and stares for a long moment, biting his lips enticingly, before he chuckles and averts them ingenuously. Clint is done waiting for an answer. He starts kissing his way along the man's jawline, cradling his face in his hands, and sneaks them onto the corner of his lips. The older man gasps and lets Clint hold his face straight. 

He kisses him, slowly, languorously, sliding his tongue inside his mouth softly. Stark's hands jerk and grab his shirt, he groans into his mouth and deepens the kiss, leaning into Clint, but letting him control it. It's infuriating how good it feels. Everything about this feels good. From the taste of his mouth, to the grazing stubble, and the noises he makes. Clint's head's spinning. He lets his hand slide down his neck and his chest, tangling his fingers in the white gold chain around his neck. It draws a moan out of the older man, he seizes his hand in a jerk, as if he was going to tear it away but instead he keeps it there, on his chest, against his heart. 

Stark's heart is racing. So is Clint's.


	7. Chapter 7

**Four months previous**

"How did you know?"

Tony turns hazy eyes to him. They're half-lidded with a fading veil of lust in them. There's a bead of sweat gliding down his temples. His hair is damp and sticking up, his lips are parted, red and swollen. He's staring at him without really looking, like there's a wall between them, or rather like there's a screen with pictures of his own parading across before his eyes. 

He reaches his face with his finger and let them trail down his temples, following the wet line of that bead of sweat. His fingers skim across Tony's skin and follow the line of his jaw softly. Tony's eyes track his movements lazily. He gasps softly at the touch. Bucky lets his fingers wander down his neck and brushes across his collarbone. His eyes are stuck on the wet trail, then they flicker to the marks he left on Tony's skin, the red lines across his chest. He feels his cock jolt at the sight. He's ecstatic, grinning up to his ears, he can even feel the pressure on his cheeks. He can't stop.

He makes a movement forward with his hips, undulating over Tony's crotch, teasing. Then he grabs a nipple between his fingers and presses hard, pulling on it a little. Tony didn't expect this. His eyes shoot up, wide open, as he pulls on the restraints. He gasps, hard and breathlessly. His eyes are focused on him now. He can feel Tony's dick press against the cleft of his ass, hard like a rock. Bucky smirks.

"F—fuck." Tony huffs out.

Bucky snorts. "Did you like it?"

Tony huffs out a plaintive groan. "I need to come."

"All in due time, baby."

Maybe Tony wanted to smile but the expression on his face is rather desperate right now and weary. "Untie me," he begs. 

Bucky takes the flog and let the lashes brush across his skin. Tony shivers. "You didn't answer my question."

He raises an eyebrow, pulling on the restraints for leverage and tries to look at him. "What question?"

"How did you know?" Bucky repeats.

"How did I know what?" 

"That I was into this..." he clarifies pensively, voice sounding raspy, while staring at the way Tony's skin goosebumps every time he wavers the flog over his chest, brushing the damaged skin softly. 

Tony looks into his eyes, questioningly, and then he averts his gaze. "Your eyes," he answers, "they've got this perverse, twisted glow in them. They're burn with sadistic pleasure. And every time you strike me, they grow more insane and euphoric." Bucky bites his lips. "And then you're gone." He bites harder and lets escape a whimper. 

He drops the flog and reaches Tony's neck with his single hand. He strongly wishes he could have two of them, so he could strangle his lover, watch him suffocate and redden with the lack air, seeing his eyes shoot up with fear until the last moment and then see the blissful feeling of the adrenaline high in them. But he can't do that, for two very obvious reasons.

Tony wouldn't let him do that anyway, would he?

"Do you think it's because of this?" he nods at the blatant absence of his arm. "That I became like this."

Tony rolls his eyes and drops his head onto the pillows in an annoyed sigh. "I'm not your therapist," he whines. And then he sighs resignedly. "If we're gonna do that, at least, untie me first."

Bucky snorts. He gets off Tony's lap and reaches for the cuffs, presses the latch to open them. A quite simple mechanism especially made for a cripple like him. 

Tony sits up and hauls himself against the pillows, he rubs a hand on his wrists. His eyes are still hazy, still wanting. Bucky looks at the drying trail of sweat on his temple and wants to lick it.

He runs his hand into Tony's damp hair and pulls his head back. He moves closer, leaning into him and pushing his knees forward onto the soft mattress which sinks under his weight. Then, he kisses the older man, violating his mouth with his tongue. Tony moans into his mouth, gasping in surprise. His hands land on Bucky's waist.

"I want more," he whispers croakily. 

"Not so fast, baby Barnes." Tony says with a lazy smile. He takes the flasks that lies on his bedside table and swallows a gulp. Then, he licks his lips while letting his hand fall onto his lap. His gaze get lost into space. "You need to learn the tricks first."

"Teach me."

Tony snorts, smile fading from his lips. He looks away. "I'm not sure I'm the right person to do that..." he says while avoiding his gaze. It sounds regretful. His hand reaches Bucky's face and his fingers fiddle with his long hair, pushing them back behind his ear. 

Bucky bites his lips. He feels ecstatic. He's looking at the man in front of him and dreams of making him his. He wants to make him his. Tony makes him feel like he's never felt before.

"I wasn't talking about that, you know?" He admits in a hoarse, hurtful whisper.

Tony's eyes are back on him, half-questioning, half-amused. He drinks again. "What were you talking about then?"

Bucky bites his lips again but this time it's hesitant and careful. "I was talking about us."

Tony turns his head on the side and avoids his gaze again. He snorts bitterly. "I can't give you more, Jimmy." It sounds more like a 'I don't _want_ to give you more,' though.

"Why not?"

"We're not compatible, for starters."

Bucky looks at the evidence of their pleasure on the sheets and on his battered skin. Then, he stares at his half-hard cock and remembers Tony hasn't come yet. He grabs the shaft nonchalantly and starts stroking up and down lazily. Tony tenses and gasps, eyes whiting out. His legs shake in jerky spasms and he bucks up his hips, seeking the warmth of Bucky's hand. He grows bigger in his fingers. He's fully hard in mere seconds. 

He lets out a self-satisfied chuckle. "We look pretty compatible to me."

Tony scoffs, panting between bursts of laugh. "I'll tell you a secret," he says with a mischievous glimmer in his expression. Bucky flickers his eyes to him. "I'm actually a verse top."

He frowns. "What does that even mean?"

Tony snorts. "Come on, Jimmy. Seriously..."

"No, Tony, _seriously._ I genuinely don't know what it means. I don't _know_ the gay slang."

Tony raises skeptical eyebrows to him. "You don't watch porn?" Bucky shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Whatever," Tony sighs. "It means I usually top, and _sometimes,_ I like to bottom. See what the problem is?"

Oh. Okay. That's... That's pretty unexpected. Like, _really?_

He looks embarrassed when he smiles. How did he not know that about his lover? "You're pretty submissive..." he says while losing confidence as the words leave his mouth, "for a top."

Tony shoots him a condescending look and leans against the bedhead, rock-hard, one leg bent on the side. He takes his flask and swallows down another gulp and he smiles, a little provocatively, but doesn't grant him with an answer.

"Really, Tony?" Bucky exclaims, ignoring the little twinge in his chest. "That's your reason?" Seems a really dumb one to him. 

Tony's smile fades and he looks into his eyes, staring at him with an eerily blue half-lidded gaze. "I can think of a hundred more reasons why we shouldn't happen but I'm not about to list them out now." He grabs his own shaft and strokes himself slowly. "I don't think you'd like to hear them."

He slides down into the bed and drops his head on the pillows, looking up pensively, still stroking his cock. Just so slowly and infuriatingly. Bucky feels rage coil inside him. 

"Don't treat me like an ignorant kid."

"Isn't that what you are, though?" Bucky suddenly feels like he's been robbed of his life. He's so inadequate in this world, so out of tune with this life. He starts breathing heavily, nose flaring, fist clenching. Tony looks down through his lids and rolls his eyes. "Just shut up and make me come, or get out of my bed," he snaps and then he adds, "and of my house."

Bucky feels another twinge. He grinds his teeth.

He crawls between Tony's legs and bites the soft skin on the inside of his thigh. He sinks his teeth into the flesh, hard, until Tony let out a painful wheezing gasp and jerks up to tap his head away. Bucky lets go and sits up on his knees, staring down at him and feeling euphoric. There's a glimmer of fear or hatred, he isn't sure, in Tony's eyes. "You're _insane!"_ The older man accuses. 

Bucky smirks and looks down at his rock-hard twitching cock. 

"And you're dripping precome," he huffs out, "all over yourself." 

Tony grimaces. How dishonest that man can be! He loves it when Bucky hurts him. It drives him crazy and addicted.

"I've never done it, you know?" Bucky blurts, feeling a shiver running down his spine. He's suddenly hesitant and lost and vulnerable. Why does Tony always refuse him? His lover's expression softens, he looks up at him questioningly. "I mean, I've never had—I've never _bottomed."_

Something flashes across Tony's eyes. Something wanton.

"I wanna do it." Bucky says, standing on his knees. He feels shivers as he whispers the words. Tony swallows. He drinks from his flask, looking at him sidelong.

"You don't have to," he finally says. His voice is hoarse and husky, stuck in his throat. His gaze is heated.

Bucky's gaze must most certainly reflect Tony's. He scratches his neck absent-mindedly. "But I want to," he says.

Tony bites his lips. "Okay." Then he wonders how they're gonna do this, the best position for a first time, according to him, being on your back while holding your legs up with your arms under your knees, which is obviously _not_ an option right now. Neither is being on all four, 'cause that can be tricky with only one arm. And Bucky never uses his prosthetics during sex. It's uncomfortable. 

In the end, Tony has him laid on his stomach and fondles his back with his callused hands, massaging him, and turning him into mush until every light touch from the tip of his fingers feels like branding iron on his skin. When he feels he's teased him enough, he lies down over him, slipping his hard-on between Bucky's thighs, rubbing maddeningly against his hole, teasing every nerve in his body. He kisses Bucky on the nape of his neck and down his shoulders. He bites, too. And _oh god_ Bucky can be a bit of a masochist too. He gasps and groans and lets the sensation invade his body. Tony's hands are everywhere. 

It's only when Bucky's body is on fire, begging to be fucked, that Tony actually starts preparing him. He slides his hands down along his sides and clamp them around his waist. His whole body moves down between Bucky's legs, the sudden cold on his back makes him shiver. Tony bites his asscheeks and kisses at the top of the crack of his ass, then he slides his tongue in between. Bucky feels a tingling feeling spread throughout his entire body. His skin goosebumps. He starts panting, breathlessly, at the sensation.

Bucky lets out a literal _whimper_ when Tony's tongue slurp across his puckered hole and he gasps when it pushes inside of him. The tongue becomes one finger, then two, and Tony pushes lube deeper inside, skimming his fingers on a particular place that makes him feel like coming right on the spot. He's losing control and it's unnerving.

Like a demon, Tony drapes over him, slipping his hard cock between his asscheeks again. This time he feels the pressure of its head against his hole. He opens slowly for him. Tony takes his time, he slides his arms underneath Bucky's shoulders and rubs his hairy face against Bucky's temple, grunting and breathing sharp warm air into his neck. He enter slowly but inexorably and soon Bucky feels filled up to the hilt. Tony starts pounding into him then, drawing gasps and little cries out of him, each time he's losing his mind, seeing the stars.

Tony rakes his hand in his hair and whispers sweet words in his ears. He's pounding hard, anchoring him into the mattress every time. His hand sneaks under him and grabs his shaft. Bucky had forgotten he had a cock, overwhelmed with the sensations assaulting him from everywhere. Tony lifts his hips, leaving Bucky's upper body pressed into the bed. Ass up, back arched. This way Tony can stroke his cock.

His lover thrusts hard. Bucky's mind goes blank. He's losing control. He hates not being in control, even though, with Tony, he never really is. "Wait," he begs, "wait. Wait." Tony slows down. Bucky catches his breath. "I wanna ride you," he rasps. 

There, straddling Tony's legs, Bucky feels euphoric again. He's open now and slick and Tony's dick slides in and out of him so easily. It's like a crystal high. He wants to tie him up again but Tony obviously loves grabbing his waist too much and Bucky likes the animalistic way he's looking at him right now. Half-lidded, hungry dark pupils blown-out in light blue pools.

He slaps him right across the face. 

Fire flares in Tony's eyes. An angry, painful and wanton fire. Now, his eyes are focused on Bucky again, instead of lost in the limbo of his own mind, and there's an amused smile on his lips. A smirky one that does it so fucking much for Bucky. He slaps again, this time Tony expected the blow and his eyes burn with desire only. His hand lingers enough on his face for Tony to catch his thumb in his mouth and lick it wantonly. Bucky shivers at the sensation. He pulls away and runs his fingers down his lover's chest, sinking his nails into the flesh, scratching his way down into the forest of dark hairs on his lower stomach. Tony hisses in pain and pleasure alike, he grabs his hip in one hand and his dick in the other and only needs to stroke a few times before Bucky's come splatters all over Tony's chest in a breathless cry reaped out of him.

Bucky collapses. Tony catches him tenderly and kisses his ear. He jerks his hips twice and comes inside of him. A cascade of sensation spurting out of him into Bucky's ass.

Well, it wasn't _that_ bad after all...

It wasn't bad at all, although Bucky's not sure he can handle that level of vulnerability. He snuggles against his lover, nuzzling against his neck. Tony's arm is curled around him and his fingers unconsciously fondle his back and his shoulder. Tony's lost in his mind again. Bucky wishes he could get inside brain in these moments and see. Tony's fingers trail down his stump lazily, brushing the hypersensitive skin there. Bucky shivers in the weirdest of ways and huddles against him, like a small child afraid of the dark.

His eyes wander down Tony's chest and he looks with blissful satisfaction at the marks he left there. No matter how many people Tony has sex with—because, yes, he knows Tony has sex with other people, even if none of them are regulars like him—those marks are his and his only. He climbs on top of his lover and snuggles on his other side. There he can finally trace his fingers along the red marks. Tony shivers and his skin goosebumps. 

"I love the way your eyes flare with pain and rage when I hit you." He says softly. "I wish I'd see you cry one day. I wanna see your eyes swell up with tears as I hit you hard."

Tony snorts amusedly. "You're really cracked, you know that?"

Bucky pouts. "Will you cry for me, baby?"

"You'll break every bone in my body before you see me cry, kid." 


End file.
